USCAN 


.-BY 


1LEANOR  C.DONNELLY 


A 

TUSCAN  MAGDALEN, 


AND  OTHER 


LEGENDS   AND   POEMS. 


BY 

ELEANOR  C.  DONNELLY, 

Author  of  "  Poems,"   "  Children   of  the  Golden    Sheaf,"    "  Hymns    of 

the  Sacred  Heart,"  "  Petronilla  and  Other  Stories," 

"  Our  Birthday  Bouquet,"  etc.,  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 
H.   L.    KlLNER    &    CO., 

PUBLISHERS. 


154-5 

-DS 

r? 


Copyright,    1896,  by 
ELEANOR  C.  DONNELLY. 


TO 

MY  SISTERS, 

THOSE  DEAREST  OF  ALL  DEAR  FRIENDS, 
THE   DEVOTED   COMPANIONS  OF  MY  LIFE  AND  UN 
FAILING  ENLIVENERS  OF  MY  LABORS, 
THESE  PAGES  ARE  INSCRIBED. 


A  TUSCAN  MAGDALEN 7 

THE  INSPIRING  OF  (LEDMON         .        .         .         .         16 

PEDRO  VELHO'S  WARNING 23 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  LEPER  ....  33 
THE  KING  AND  THE  SLAVE  .  .  .  .37 

ST.  CHRISTOPHER'S  BURDEN  ....  41 
THE  TEMPTATION  OF  L1FFARDUS  .  .  .  .44 
ST.  NICHOLAS  AND  THE  DOVES  ...  50 

THE  TRUE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  .         .         .         .55 

ST.  WULSTAN'S  CROZIER       .....        56 

THE  MASTER'S  CLOAK 58 

FORTY  MARTYRS  OF  SEBASTE  ....  64 
THE  KEY  OF  HEAVEN  .....  67 

ESTRADA'S  SPOUSE  70 

THE  SHEPHERD'S  FEAST  .         .         .         .76 

THE  TEMPTED  NUN  81 

SIR  VERITAS  AND  THE  KING  .  .  .  .84 
OUR  LADY  OF  THE  LAMP  ....  89 

THE  FRUIT  OF  OBEDIENCE  .         .         .         .91 

AN  EASTER  LESSON  92 

ANT  ARAB'S  LOGIC .93 

THE  STAR  OF  THE  KINGS 96 

ST.  JOSEPH'S  CHARGE  98 

AN  EASTER  LILY         .         .         .         .         .         .102 

A  CHAPLET  AT  COVENTRY 103 

THE  SINGING  LEPER   ....  .      105 

THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  HOLLY  .  .  .  .  .107 
A  MIDSUMMER  MEMORY  .  109 

SO  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FAR  .  .  „  .  .112 
THE  THANKSGIVING  OP  THE  CHASTENED  .  .  115 

(5) 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

CHRISTMAS  IDYL  117 

THE  SPARROW'S  SERMON 119 

SAN  BOXIFA.ZIO 123 

THE  CHINESE  LILY 127 

DOING  THE  WILL  OF  GOD       .  ...  129 

ST.  ANTHONY'S  CLIENT 131 

THE  FIERY  TONGUES 132 

WHEX,  WHERE  AND  HOW?          ....       133 

THE  LIFTED  HAT  .135 

FORGIVING  AND  FORGETTING  ....  137 
THE  MOTHERLESS  HOME  .  .  .  .  .139 

A  TAPER  AT  LOURDES 142 

THOSE  OUTSTRETCHED  ARMS  .         .         .         .145 

THE  HERMIT'S  VISION 147 

CHRIST'S  DOVES  .  14!) 

THE  QUEEN  AND  THE  KINGS  ....  151 
THE  GRAVES  OF  CHILDREN  ....  153 

"  AS  THE  HEN  GATHERETH  HER  CHICKENS  "  .  .  159 
FLOWERS  OF  THE  NIGHT  .  .  .  .  .101 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  LILY 163 

MORNING-GLORIES  165 

A  SUNSET  SYMBOL  167 

THE  NEW  JERUSALEM  169 

ABANDONED  171 

A  PRAYER  AND  ITS  ANSWER          .        .        .        .173 

THE  BRIDGE  OF  LIGHT 174 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  CROSS 175 

THE  APOSTLE  WHO  PROVED        .        .        .        .       177 

THE  DRAMA  SPIRITUALIZED 178 

SYMPATHY 185 

THE  ACADIANS  IN  PHILADELPHIA  .  .  .  .186 
ASCENSION  DAY  .  .  .  .  .  .190 

THE  CHAMBER  OF  CHRIST 193 

SWEET  PEACE. — A  PICTURE  .  .  .  .196 
THE  CHANGES  OF  THE  YEARS  .  .  .  .198 
GONE!  202 


A  TUSCAN  MAGDALEN. 

MARGHERITA  DI  GORTON  A. 

;ARGHERITA!  Margherita!" 
Through  the  warm  and  fragrant 

noon 
Of  the  flow'ring  Tuscan  June, 

"  Margherita  !  Margherita  !  " 
Came  the  eerie  accents  falling, 
Of  a  weird  voice  calling,  calling  : 
— "  From  the  castle  rise  and  flee  ! 
I  am  waiting  here  for  thee. 
Wouldst  thou  meet  me  ? 
Wonldst  thou  greet  me  ? 
Late,  alas  !   but  all  too  soon, 
Ere  the  rising  of  the  moon, 
Margherita  !  come  to  me ! " 

In  a  robe  of  trailing  silk, 

Soft  as  down  and  white  as  milk, 


A  TUSCAN   MAGDALEN. 

Roses  bound  about  her  hair, 
Jewels  on  her  bosom  bare, 

(From  the  spacious  castle-hall) 
Lo  !  a  woman  tall  and  fail- 
Answered  to  the  airy  call, 
Tripping  clown  the  marble  stair 
To  the  leafy  garden-wall, 
Where  a  fountain  flaslfd  and  fell, 
Tinkling  like  a  silvern  bell. 

"  Margherita  !  Margherita  !  " 

(Once  again  the  voice  came  sighing,) 
"  I  am  waiting,  Margherita  !  " 

(Like  a  lost  soul  wailing,  crying,) 
"  Margherita  !  come  to  me  I  " 
— Right  and  left  the  woman  gazed, 
Put  her  white  hand  to  her  brow ; 
Looked  about  her,  all  amazed, 
Shudder'd,  turn'd  as  pale  as  snow. 
Not  a  creature  could  she  see 
In  the  baffling  mystery 
Of  the  sunny  silence  round  ; 


A   TUSCAN   MAGDALEN. 

Only  to  her  slipper'cl  feet, 
Rustling  thro'  the  grasses  sweet, 
Came  her  absent  lover's  hound. 

"  Faithful  dog !  "  she,  stooping,  said, 
(Jewelled  hand  upon  his  head,) 

"  Bringest  thou  good  news  to  me  ? 
Doth  thy  master  follow  thee  ?  " 

Drops  of  blood  upon  his  fur. 
Pitiful  he  looked  at  her  : 
Whining,  trembling,  crouching  down, 
Pulled  the  fringes  of  her  gown, 
Grovel'd  like  a  smitten  cur — 
As  to  say  with  gesture  dumb, 
"  Lady,  if  thou  wilt  but  come, 
I  will  lead  thee  to  my  master." 
—Throbbed  her  pulses  fast  and  faster, 

Cheek  and  brow  were  white  as  death ; 

White  as  sculptur'd  alabaster  ; 

Dreading  some  unknown  disaster, 

Gasping  came  her  labored  breath. 


10  A   TUSCAN   MAGDALEN. 

Thro'  the  gate,  still  looking  back, 
Sped  the  dog  ;  and  on  his  track, 
In  her  beauty,  blighted,  bent, 
Margherita,  tott'ring,  went. 

Ho\v  the  sunlight,  blazing,  flung 

Coals  of  fire  on  her  head  ! 

Round  her  brow  the  roses  hung, 

In  their  freshness,  wither'd,  dead. 
Dusty  trailed  her  robes  of  snow  ; 
Stains  of  blood  began  to  show 
Where  her  feet  (in  satin  shod) 
Up  the  rocky  pathway  trod. 

Faint,  yet  fearing  still  to  rest, 
From  that  strange,  mysterious  quest ; 
Though  her  heart  burst  in  her  breast, 
She  must  follow,  follow,  follow ; 
When  the  olive  groves  were  near'd, 
Sudden  paused  the  dog,  distress'd, 
And,  as  sudden,  disappear'd 
In  a  little  woody  hollow  ; 


A   TUSCAN   MAGDALEN.  11 

There,  beneath  a  blasted  tree, 

Dumb  with  crushing  agony, 
Margherita,  trembling,  found 
At  her  feet  the  faithful  hound, 

Turning  up  the  bloody  clay 

From  a  crevice  in  the  ground, 
Where  a  corpse,  disfigured,  lay  ! 

Oh  !  the  vision  of  that  face 
In  its  awful  putrefaction  ! 
Fetid  limbs,  devoid  of  grace, 
With  the  mould'ring  silk  and  lace 

Dropping  from  their  foul  inaction. 
Purple,  swollen,  worm-defiled, — 
(Would  the  grass  the  sight  might  cover  !) 
On  her  knees,  the  woman  wild 
Glared  upon  her  murthered  lover. 

Murthered,  hurried  out  of  life 
In  the  fulness  of  his  sin  : 
Hapless  breast !  th'  assassin's  knife, 
Blood-incrusted,  gleamed  therein. 


12  A   TUSCAN    MAGDALEN. 

And  the  grinning  lips  apart, 
Seemed  to  whisper  to  her  heart : 
44  Look  upon  me  (O  Remorse!) 
Woman,  whom  I  loved  too  well, 
Thou-  art  gazing  on  the  corse 
Of  a  soul  whose  home  is  hell ! 
In  thy  beauty  and  thy  bloom, 
Thou  hast  helped  to  seal  my  doom  ; 
Hear  me,  I  am  calling  thee, 
Margherita  !  come  to  me  !  " 

44  Ah  !  reproach  me  as  thou  wilt, 
Partner  of  my  shame  and  guilt  !  " 
Cried  the  woman,  shrinking  back 
From  the  ghastly  sight  before  her. 
(Wretched  victim  ! — on  the  rack 
Mem'ry's  furies  scourged  and  tore  her): 

44  Vent  thy  scorn  upon  my  head, 
Do  whate'er  thou  wilt  to  me, 
But  oh  !  call  me  not  to  thee, 
Call,  oh  !  call  me  not  to  be 
Fetter'd  to  thy  fiery  bed 
Through  the  long  Eternity  ! 


A   TUSCAN   MAGDALEN.  13 

"See  !  " — and  with  her  trembling  hands 
From  her  throat,  she  tore  the  gems, 
Wrench'd  the  roses'  wither'd  stems 
From  her  long  hair's  shining  strands: 

"  See,  great  God  !  I  here  lament 
All  my  wanton  days  of  crime; 
Judge  me  not  before  my  time  ! 
I  repent — repent — repent !  " 
(Thro'  the  woods  the  echoes  went: 

"  I  repent — repent — repent  !  ") 

"  Lo  !  beside  this  fest'ring  clay, 
(Broken  idol  of  my  sin  ! ) 
If  thy  pardon  I  may  win, 
Silks  and  gems  I  cast  away, 
And  a  nobler  life  begin. 
Hear  and  help  me,  Love  Divine ! 

By  Thy  Blood  and  by  Thy  tears, 
Wash  me  from  the  guilt  of  years, 
Make  my  heart  forever  Thine  I  " 

On  her  head,  the  dews  were  falling, 
(Angel-tears  of  Paradise 


14  A   TUSCAN    MAGDALEN. 

Falling  thro'  the  night  of  June  I) 
— Rose  on  high  the  rounded  mooii, 
Like  a  silvery  balloon, 
Floating  thro'  the  quiet  skies; 
But  another  Voice  was  calling, 
Sweet,  a  far-off  Voice  was  calling 
From  the  pure  empyrean  skies: 
"  Margherita !  Margherita  ! 
Listen  to  thy  Lover  true, 
(Ever  ancient,  ever  new,) 
Who  hath  bled  and  died  for  thee 
On  the  fatal  Calvary-Tree. 

"  He  hath  loved  thee,  Margherita 
With  an  everlasting  love, 
In  the  mighty  strength  whereof, 
(Being  merciful  to  thee) 
He  hath  drawn  thee,  Margherita, 
From  thy  life  of  misery  ! 

" — Scandal  of  thine  Alviano  ! 
Shame  of  Montepulciano  ! 


A   TUSCAN   MAGDALEN.  15 

Thou  shalt  be  renowned  in  story 
For  thy  wondrous  purity  ; 
Thou  shalt  be  Cortona's  glory, 

Pearl  of  grateful  Tuscany  ! 

I  have  claimed  thee, 
I  have  named  thee, — 
Rise,  repent,  and  follow  Me  ! " 

*  *  *  -x-  •$* 

Ere  the  night  had  settled  down 

Over  Montepulciano, 
Thro'  the  gates  of  that  old  town, 
Winding  forth  to  Alviano, 
Went  a  woman  clad  in  brown, 
Ashes  on  her  shrouded  head, 
Sobbing  (whilst  the  child  she  led 
Clung,  affrighted,  to  her  gown)  : 
"Farewell,  home  of  sinful  leisure, 
Farewell,  scenes  of  guilty  pleasure, 
Ye  have  fled  mine  eyes  at  last ! 
Welcome,  life  of  blessed  losses  ! 
Welcome, penance !  Welcome,  crosses ! 
— O  my  God  !  forgive  the  past  I " 


THE  INSPIRING  OF  G^EDMON. 

I. 

SN  the  Abbey  of  Whitby  vast  and  quaint, 
Ruled  by  Hilda,  Abbess  and  saint, 
(Whose  blood  ran  pure  from  the  royal  spring 

Of  her  great-grandsire,  Edwin  the  King), 

Hundreds  of  learned  nuns  and  friars 

In  separate  cloisters  kept  the  rules, 

Toiled  in  the  cells  and  sang  in  the  choirs, 

Studied  and  taught  in  the  ancient  schools; 

Gentle  and  simple,  all  in  their  way, 

Owning  the  Abbess  Hilda's  sway. 

II. 

Down  in  the  servants'  hall  outside, 

Where  the  great  logs  blazed  in  the  hearth-place 

wide, 

Many  a  poor  retainer  shared 
The  Minster's  bounty;  and,  tender,  cared 


THE    INSPIRING    OF    GNOMON.  17 

For  the  sick  and  the  sore,  who  thronged  the  grate 

Of  the  Abbess  Hilda's  convent-gate. 

Many  a  rude,  unletter'd  serf 

Swung  the  scythe  o'er  the  abbey-turf, 

Or  ploughed  its  fields  ;  or  the  horses  led 

To  the  crystal  brooks ;  or  the  poultry  fed ; 

Or  guided  the  kine  and  the  browsing  sheep 

Through  the  clover-pastures,  lush  and  deep ; — 

Harmless  louts,  of  as  little  lore 

As  the  beasts  they  fed  at  the  stable-door. 

III. 

Dullest  of  all  the  dull  souls  there, 

Who  knew  no  secrets  of  book  or  prayer, 

Who  sang  no  song,  and  who  spake  no  word, 

Was  Csedmon,  the  humble  cattle-herd. 

Csedmon,  the  homely,  honest  clown 

Whose  gray  locks  hung  o'er  his  temples  brown ; 

Whose  stolid  visage  and  sunken  eyes 

From  the  mists  of  the  moorlands  seemed  to  rise, 

Like  those  of  a  phantom,  gaunt  and  high, 

Tracking  the  herds  'neath  the  autumn  sky. 


18  THE   INSPIRING    OF    C.EDMON. 

IV. 

Though  many  a  rural  minstrel  woke 

The  harp,  at  night,  in  the  halls  of  oak, — 

Ne'er  had  the  herdsman's  hand  been  known 

To  rouse  sweet  Music's  slumbering  tone. 

Whenever  his  comrades  sat  at  board, 

And  the  meats  were  passed  or  the  malt  was  pour'd, 

If  the  song,  in  its  turn,  to  Csedmon  came, 

(Half  in  sorrow  and  half  in  shame), 

He  rose  from  his  seat  in  silent  mood, 

And  toss'd  the  harp  to  the  nearest  bard, 

Then,  wending  his  way  to  an  out-house  rude, 

Where  the  kine  were  stalled  in  the  stable-yard, 

In  cold  and  darkness  cowered  alone, 

Couch'd  with  the  beasts  on  the  floor  of  stone, 

Murmuring  ever  the  same  sad  thing : 

"  If  I  could  but  sing  !     If  I  could  but  sing  !  " 

V. 

There,  on  the  straw,  on  one  such  night, 

With  a  heavy  heart,  but  a  conscience  light, 

He  cast  him  down  (when  his  prayers  were  said,) 


THE   1NSPI1UNG   OF   (LEDMON.  19 

Where  the  dumb  brutes  slumber'd  left  and  right, 
And,  watching  the  stars  through  the  chinks  o'er- 

head, 
Fell  fast  asleep  on  his  fragrant  bed. 

VI. 

The  moon  rose  up  in  the  quiet  West, 

With  a  fleecy  veil  round  her  virgin  breast ; 

The  night-wind  sighed  through  the  broken  walls, 

The  cattle  stirred  in  their  blacken'd  stalls, 

And,  over  beyond,  in  the  convent  choir, 

Sounded  the  voice  of  a  chanting  friar. 

But  Csedmon  lay  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 

Nor  heard  nor  saw  these  sounds  or  sights ; 

He  only  marveled  to  see  the  place 

Filled  with  splendor  and  strange  delights ! 

VII. 

Over  him  floated  a  golden  cloud, 
Rare  as  the  mists  of  that  last  bright  hour, 
When  the  rainbow-tints  of  the  sunset  crowd 
The  western  skies  with  their  gorgeous  dower ; 


20  THE   INSPIRING    OF   (LEDMON. 

And  out  of  the  cloud,  an  angel  came, 
With  flower-like  face  and  wings  of  flame, 
Who  cried  in  a  voice,  both  sweet  and  strong : 
"  Csedmon  !  sing  me  a  blessed  song  !  " 

VIII. 

"Alas!"  groaned  the  herdsman,  hoarse  and  low, 

"  I  cannot  sing  !     If  tliou  didst  but  know, 

'Twas  because  of  the  harp  and  the  song,  fair  sprite, 

I  fled  from  the  feast,  this  very  night  I  " 

"Yet,  nevertheless,"  the  angel  said, 

"  A  singer  thou  'It  be  !  " — And  with  bended  head, 

Csedmon  questioned:     "What  shall  I  sing?" 

The  spirit  answered  :    "  The  praise  of  the  King  !  " 

Answered  :     "  Thy  theme  shall  CREATION  be,— 

Sing  thou  of  Time  and  Eternity  !  " 

IX. 

And  Csedmon  lifted  his  voice  and  sang — 
(His  thrilling  tones  to  the  rafters  rang) — 
Verses  in  praise  of  the  God  Triune, 
Father,  Creator  of  sun  and  moon, 


THE   INSPIRING   OF   C.EDMON.  21 

Of  earth,  and  of  all  the  things  thereof 

That  speak  His  wisdom,  His  might,  His  love  ! 

The  stars  in  the  sky,  the  winds  that  blow, 

The  rain  and  the  dew,  the  frost  and  the  snow, 

The  birds  in  the  air,  the  fish  in  the  sea, 

The  beasts  that  roam  over  hill  and  lea, 

The  flowers,  the  trees,  and  the  silver  streams, 

The  lakes  land-lock'd  in  their  crystal  dreams, 

All,  all  the  beautiful  things  of  earth 

In  the  pristine  glow  of  their  sinless  birth, 

Swelled  through  the  strains  of  Csedmon's  song, 

A  Benedicite,  grand  and  strong ! 

X. 

"Praise  God,  ye  creatures  !  "  the  herdsman  cried; 

"  Praise  God  I  "  the  Angel  soft  replied  ; 

And  the  musical  echoes  swept  abroad 

Their  mighty  chorus :  "  Praise  God !  praise  God  !  " 

XI. 

Lo !  in  the  morning,  gaunt  and  thin, 
The  Abbess  Hilda  led  him  in 


22  THE    INSPIRING    OF    C.EDMON. 

To  the  learned  men ;  and  bade  him  there 
Sing  the  song  he  had  learned  in  prayer, 
The  song  of  his  dream,  the  psalm  of  might, 
The  Angel  taught  him  in  the  night. 
And  when,  from  his  grand,  enlightened  soul, 
The  strains  majestic  'gan  to  roll, 
When,  from  his  bearded  lips  gushed  out 
A  paean  glad  as  a  seraph's  shout, 
And  all  his  dull,  dark,  stolid  face 
Transfigured  grew,  with  light  and  grace, — 
The  Abbess  spake  :     k'  Our  God  in  heaven 
Hath  wondrous  gifts  to  the  guileless  given  ! 
Henceforth,  O  friars,  this  man  shall  be 
The  least  of  your  gracious  company  !  " 
And  then  she  added,  with  'bated  breath  : 
44  Pure  in  thy  life-  pure  in  thy  death, 
O  poet  Csedmon  !  O  bard  sublime  ! 
In  soul  and  song  to  the  saints  allied, 
The  world  shall  hail  thee  throughout  all  time, 
As  Whitby's  glory  and  Whitby's  pride  !  " 


PEDRO  VELHCPS  WARNING. 
I. 


the  blue  waves,  sparkling,  ran 
Up  the  beach  at  old  San  Tchan,* 
And  in  foaming  eddies  went, 

o 
Circling  in  and  out  again, 

In  a  little  Chinese  tent 
On  the  sands  beside  the  main, 

In  a  little  Chinese  tent, 
With  a  friend  from  sunny  Spain, 

Pedro  Velho  sat  at  play, 

On  a  long-gone  Summer's  day. 

Gay  and  guileless  cavalier, 
Gallant  Velho  was  most  dear 

To  that  Spanish  saint,  whose  fame 
Even  then  the  Indies  filled  ; 

And  if  Francis  Xavier's  name 
Many  a  colder  bosom  thrilled, 

*  Sancian. 


24  PEDKO    VELHO'S    WARNING. 

It  awoke  a  rapture  blest 

In  the  ardent  Pedro's  breast. 

So  it  chanced  that,  as  he  sat 

In  his  plumed  and  drooping  hat, 

With  the  jewels  of  his  sword 
Glowing  'neath  his  silken  cloak, — 

(While  his  friend,  across  the  board, 
In  the  soft  Castilian  spoke,)-— 

Pedro  lifted  up  his  eyes 

With  a  start  of  glad  surprise. 

For  the  curtains  of  the  tent 
By  a  master-hand  were  rent, 

And  before  them,  grave  and  sweet, 
Stood  th'  Apostle  of  San  Tchan  ! 

—Pedro,  springing  to  his  feet, 
Knelt  before  the  holy  man, 

And,  in  reverential  tone, 

Humbly  craved  a  benison. 

Softly  Xavier  spake  and  smiled  : 
"  God  requite  thee,  dearest  child, 


PEDKO    VELHO'S    W  All  XING.  25 

For  thy  gracious  charity  ! 

Yesternoon,  beside  the  sea, 
When  I  asked  of  thee  a  dole 
For  a  tried  and  tempted  soul, 

Thou  didst  answer,  '  With  this  key, 
Lo  !  I  give  to  thee  control 

Of  my  coffers ;  go,  and  take 

What  tliou  wilt  for  Christ's  dear  sake ! '  ' 

"  But,  my  Father,"  Pedro  said, 
Lifting  up  his  handsome  head, 

"  Was  it  right  or  just  to  scorn 
The  poor  gift  I  tendered  thee  ? 

Half  my  riches  I  had  sworn 
Should  be  thine — but  lo  !  instead, 

When  I  chanced,  this  very  morn, 
To  inspect  my  treasury, 

(God  forgive  Your  Reverence  !) 

Not  a  coin  ivas  missiny  thence  !  " 

Then  St.  Francis'  face  grew  bright 
With  a  strange,  prophetic  light : 


26  PEDRO    VELHO'S    WARNING. 

"  See  !  "  he  murmured,  "  O  my  son  ! 

O  my  brave,  unselfish  one  ! 
See  how  wond'rously  the  Lord, 
Far  from  lessening  thy  hoard, 
Or  diminishing  thy  store  — 

For  each  deed  of  mercy  done 
Doth  increase  it  more  and  more  ! 

"  Ah  !  thy  gold  shall  never  fail, 
Nor  distress  thy  doors  assail  ; 
For  'twill  chance,  as  I  foresee, 
(Blessed  meed  of  charity  I  ) 

That  thy  little  cares  and  woes 
Shall  dissolve  in  peace  divine  ; 

And  when  life  is  near  its  close, 
There  shall  come  to  thee  a  sign 

Of  that  awful,  final  hour 
Which  precedes  the  soul's  repose  : 

—  When  the  siveetness  of  the  wine 
In  thy  mouth,  alone,  shall  sour, 

Then,  I  say  to  thee,  my  friend, 

MAKE  THOU  HEADY  FOR  THE  END  !  " 

*  #*•**•# 


PEDKO    VELHO'S    WARNING.  27 

II. 

At  a  banquet  at  Yeiichow, 
With  a  calm,  un wrinkled  brow, 

With  a  face  still  fresh  and  fair, — 
(Spite  of  many  a  silver  thread 

In  the  mass  of  ebon  hair 
Clust'ring  round  his  noble  head), — 

Pedro  Velho,  'mid  the  rest, 

Sate  a  staid  and  honored  guest. 

Stately  speech  and  sparkling  song 
Swept  the  polish'd  board  along. 

While  it  groaned  beneath  the  load 
Of  the  luscious  fruits  thereon  ; 

Rarest  liquors  foamed  and  flowed, 
Or  in  glitt'ring  goblets  shone, — 

As  applauding  knight  and  dame 

Drank  to  Pedro  Velho's  name. 

To  his  feet  with  grave  repose 
Pedro  graciously  arose, 


28  PEDRO   VELHO'S    WARNING. 

And  with  courtesy  profound 
Touched  the  goblet  to  his  lips, 

Touched,  and  took  it  from  his  lips, 
Then,  affrighted,  gazed  around  ! 

— From  his  hand  the  beaker  slips, 
Crush'd  in  atoms  on  the  ground ! 

For  the  sweet  wine  of  the  /South 

Is  as  acid  in  Ids  mouth  ! 

Like  a  whisper,  fine  and  clear, 
Long-forgotten,  floating  near, 

Till  his  blood  within  him  froze 
And  his  tears  ran  down  like  brine, 

Pedro  Velho  seemed  to  hear 

In  the  porches  of  his  ear: 
"And  when  life  is  near  its  close, 

There  shall  come  to  tliee  a  sign 
Of  that  awful,  final  hour 

Which  precedes  the  soul's  repose  ; 
—  When  the  sweetness  of  the  wine 

In  thy  mouth,  alone,  shall  sour, 
Then,  I  say  to  thee,  my  friend, 
MAKE  THOU  READY  FOR  THE  END  !  " 


PEDRO    VELHO'S    WARNING.  29 

Right  and  left,  he  turned  and  bowed 
To  the  silent,  wondering  crowd, 

And  a  light  shone  thro'  his  face, 
Like  a  sunrise  thro'  a  cloud ; 
And  as  one  who  looks  his  last 

'Round  an  old  familiar  place — 
(Tender-eyed  and  dreamy-brow'd, 

Doomed  to  linger  but  a  space) — 
With  his  cloak  about  him  cast, 
Through  the  open  door  he  pass'd, 
And  along  the  starlit  street 
Sped  with  swift,  unsandall'd  feet. 


Soft !  a  chapel  by  the  road 
Whence  an  altar-lamp  outglowed, 

And  the  portal  standing  wide 
Wooed  the  weary  wanderer  in  ! 

"  O  my  Master  !  "  Pedro  cried, 
(Looking  strangely  gaunt  and  thin), 
"  In  this  spot  Thou  dost  abide, 
Far  from  worldly  pomp  and  pride ; 


30  PEDRO    VELHO'S    WARNING. 

And  to-night,  alone  herein, 
While  the  earth  is  all  asleep, 

(Shaking  off  the  dust  of  sin), 
I  shall  wake  and  I  shall  weep, 
And  my  last,  long  vigil  keep  I " 

At  the  altar  rail  alone, 

On  the  marble  pavement  prone, 

Pedro  cast  himself — and  prayed, 
As  the  dying  only  pray. 

Soft  the  lamp  shone  through  the  shade, 
Wore  the  silent  hours  away, 

Till  the  stars  began  to  fade 
In  the  rosy  light  of  day  ; 

And  a  friar,  entering,  found 

The  lone  watcher  on  the  ground. 

But  he  rose,  and  calmly  said, 
(Folded  hands  and  bended  head), 

"Shrive  me,  Father,  from  my  sins, 
For  my  soul  abhorreth  them ; 

And  when  once  the  Mass  begins, 
Let  it  be  a  Requiem  ; 


PEDRO   VELHO'S    WARNING.  31 

And  the  server,  let  him  bring, 
Let  him  spread  the  funeral-pall ; 

Clouds  of  incense  o'er  me  fling, 
Drops  of  blessed  rain  let  fall; 

While  recumbent,  on  this  bier, 

I  shall  lie  and  listen  here." 

Swift  they  placed  the  couch  of  death, 
Draped  the  inky  pall,  beneath 

Whose  black  folds,  a  sombre  cloud, 
Pedro  Velho  laid  him  down, 
Wholly  hidden  in  that  shroud, 

As  in  friar's  cowl  and  gown. 
And  the  altar-tapers  flung 

Tender  light  on  book  and  bell, 
And,  below,  the  censer  swung, 

And  the  blessed  raindrops  fell, 
As  the  solemn  Mass  was  said 

For  the  dear,  departed  Dead. 

But  when  soft  upon  the  air 
Rose  the  last  celestial  prayer, 


32  PEDRO    VELHO'S    WARNING. 

And  the  acolyte's  response 

Echoed,  like  an  angel's  song, — 
In  the  central  aisle,  at  once, 

Gathered  then  an  anxious  throng; 
And  a  chill  crept  over  all, 

Every  cheek  grew  ashen-gray, 
As  the  priest  withdrew  the  pall 

From  the  bier  where  Pedro  lay  ! 

Lo  !  a  lustre,  pure  and  faint, 

Like  the  nimbus  of  a  saint ! 
Lo  !  a  delicate  perfume 

As  of  lilies ! — and  behold  ! 
Like  a  statue  on  a  tomb, 

Sculptured  white,  and  still,  and  cold, 
Like  a  marble  effigy 

Of  a  knight  in  dreamless  rest, 
With  his  sword  across  his  knee, 

And  his  hands  upon  his  breast ; 
Full  of  Christian  purity, 

Full  of  peace,  supernal,  blest, — 
In  the  midst  (O  vision  dread !  ) 

Lay  the  noble  Velho, — dead! 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  LEPER. 
A  LEGEND  OF  ST.  ELIZABETH  OF  HUNGARY. 

|ACK  from  the  chase  return'd  (his  knightly 
suite 

5)  |jg; )) 

<=?-^     Lagging  behind  from  weariness  and  heat, 
And  in  their  sturdy  silence,  as  they  came, 
Bending  beneath  the  weight  of  hard-won  game), 
Dust  on  his  doublet,  languor  in  his  tread, 
The  velvet  cap  doff d  from  his  noble  head, 
Duke  Louis  crossed  the  threshold,  first  of  all, 
And  met  his  mother  in  the  outer  hall. 

A  stately  Duchess,  dark  and  scornful-eyed, 

She  caught  his  hand,  and  hurried  him  aside. 

And,  with  an  angry  lip  and  lowering  brow, 

"  Listen  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I've  that  to  tell  thee  now, 

I've  that  to  show  to  thee,  which  shall  arouse 

Thy  just  and  lawful  ire  against  thy  spouse ; 

For  thine  Elizabeth  this  day  hath  done 

A  deed  which  doth  disgrace  us  both,  my  son  ! '" 


34       THE  MIRACLE  OF  THE  LEPER. 

Worn  as  he  was,  and  wearied  nigh  to  death, 

And  loving,  as  he  did,  Elizabeth, 

Duke  Louis,  while  his  fair  cheek  scarlet  burn'd, 

Scorning  her  words,  withdrew  his  hand,  and  turn'd 

As  though  to  go ;  but  she,  too.  flushing  red, 

"  Dost  doubt  the  tale  ?     Then   come  with  me," 

she  said-; 
"  Come  "  (with  a  bitter  smile),  "  and  thou  shalt 

see 
The  one  thy  wife  loves  better  far  than  thee." 

So,  by  the  hand,  his  tardy  steps  she  led 

Unto  his  room,  unto  his  nuptial  bed ; 

And,  pausing,  whispered  to  the  startled  Duke : 

"  Now,    look,  my   son !    by  thy  fair   knighthood, 

look  ! 

Whilst  thou  wert  at  the  chase,  thy  childish  bride, 
(Whose  saintly  whims  and  lack  of  proper  pride 
Make  her  at  once  the  scandal  and  the  sport 
Of  all  the  lords  and  ladies  of  the  court), 
Whilst  thou  wert  gone,  I  say,  she  and  her  maid 
Hugo,  the  leper,  to  this  room  conveyed, 


THE   MIRACLE   OF    THE    LEPER.  35 

Cleansed  his  foul  sores,  his  loathsome  palate  fed, 
Anointed  him,  and  laid  him  on  thy  bed  ! 
Aha !  thou  frownest !    Dost  thou  doubt  me  now  ?  " 
The  Duke  was  flush'd  with  shame  from  throat  to 

brow. 

Saint  as  he  was,  (for  only  Heaven  knew 
How  pure  his  knightly  soul,  his  faults  how  few), 
And  dearly  as  he  loved  his  little  wife 
For  her  sweet  charities  and  stainless  life, 
Yet  did  this  deed  of  mercy  she  had  done, 
Seem  to  him  then  a  most  imprudent  one. 

'Twas  not  in  knighthood  to  repress  the  ire 
Which  knit  his  brow  and  lit  his  eye  with  fire, 
As  stepping  back,  by  angry  impulse  led, 
He  quickly  raised  the  curtains  of  the  bed. 

O  Love  divine !  the  sight  which  there  he  view'd 
His  flashing  eyes  with  tenderest  tears  subdued  ; 
His  cheek  grew  white,  his  heart,  tumultuous, 

throbb'd, 
And  his  proud  mother  hid  her  face  and  sobb'd. 


36  THE   MIRACLE   OF   THE   LEPER. 

No  wretched  Hugo  slumbered,  hideous,  there, 

No  leper,  foul  with  sores  and  matted  hair — 

But,  mild  and  meek,  with  fair  arms  open'd  wide, 

And  dim  eyes  lifted — JESUS  CRUCIFIED 

Upon  the  silken  couch,  discovered,  lay, 

The  fresh  blood  dropping  from  His  wounds  away  ! 

— "  O  spouse  !  "  the  young  Duke  said,  (for  at  his 

side 

His  wife  was  standing), — "  O  my  saintly  bride  ! 
Oft  to  such  guests,  I  pray  thee,  yield  my  bed, 
And  may  our  Lord  rain  blessings  on  thy  head  "  ! 

Then,  while  his  Duchess-mother  stood  dismay'd, 
Down  on  his  knees  Duke  Louis  fell  and  prayed  : 
"  O  Lord,  my  God,  whom  earth  and  heaven  praise, 
Be  merciful  to  one  unfit  to  gaze 
Upon  the  awful  secrets  of  thy  power 
Made  manifest  in  this  tremendous  hour  I 
Gracious,  and  good,  and  loving  as  Thou  art, 
Make  me  a  man  according  to  Thy  heart; 
And  in  her  life,  O  Lord  !  and  in  her  death, 
Bless  Thou  my  spouse,  my  sweet  Elizabeth  " ! 


THE  KING  AND  THE  SLA  VE. 

I. 

IS  told  somewhere  in  an  Eastern  story, 
The  tale  of  a  king, 

&  »ll  I  ^  Y 

^]  Who  once,  in  the  prime  of  his  pomp  and 

glory, 
Did  a  strange  thing. 

A  thing  so  mad  in  its  melancholy, 

That  many  a  sheik 
Laughs  as  he  tells  his  sons  the  folly 

Of  King  Bal-zeek. 

He  called,  one  day,  from  his  myriad  minions, 

A  wretch  of  a  slave, 

And,   in    spite    of  the    court's   and    the    queen's 
opinions, 

To  him  he  gave 


38  THE    KIXG   AND    THE    SLAVE. 

Complete  control  of  the  royal  realm, 

An  absolute  power 
To  rule,  as  a  king,  at  the  nation's  helm, — 

For  one  brief  hour. 

The  crown,  the  robe,  and  the  regal  tunic 

Were  put  upon  him, 
And  the  king  himself,  as  the  veriest  eunuch, 

Attended  on  him. 

And  silvery  sweet  from  mosque  and  tower 
The  chimes  did  ring, — 

The  king  was  slave  for  one  short  hour, 
The  slave  was  king ! 

II. 

But  how  did  the  crowned  and  jeweled  actor 

His  liege  repay? — 
Lo !  with  his  heel  on  his  benefactor, 

He  cried  :     "  To-day, 

"  /,  as  a  monarch,  deal  destruction 
To  this  vile  th  ing  ! 


THE   KING    AND    THE    SLAVE.  39 

Seize  on  him,  slaves  !  " — and  without  compunction, 
They  slew  the  king- ! 

III. 

Deep  in  the  sea  of  the  allegory 

Lies  the  coral ; 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  this  Eastern  story 

Lies  a  moral. 

Slaves  are  we,  by  a  gracious  Sovereign 

Called  from  naught, 
Not  for  an  hour  alone  to  govern 

A  world  of  thought, 

But  crowned  for  a  lifetime,  crowned  and  sceptred, 

To  rule  (vast  scheme  !  ) 
O'er  the  world  and  the  flesh  and  the  subtle  tempter, 

In  power  supreme. 

With  the  precious  oil  of  a  sacred  chrism 

Our  Liege  anointed 
The  regal  garb  of  a  blest  baptism 

To  us  appointed  ; 


40        THE  KING  AND  THE  SLAVE. 

And  leaving  the  heavenly  court  and  castle, 

The  King  who  saves 
Hatli  made  Himself  the  humblest  vassal 

Of  us  poor  slaves. 

IV. 

And  what  return  have  we  made  our  Master  ? 

Have  heart  and  blood 
Beat  'neath  our  borrowed  robes  the  faster 

With  gratitude  ? 

Alas!  alack!  O  base  dishonor! 

O  outraged  Throne ! 
We  have  set  our  heel  on  the  royal  Donor 

Of  all  we  own  ! 

We   have   cried   aloud  to  our  passions:     "Seize 
Him! 

And  Sin  shall  reign  !  " 
Weep,  till  our  tears  of  blood  appease  Him, 

Our  King  is  slain  ! 


ST.  CHRISTOPHER'S  BURDEN. 

VER  the  river,  black  with  night, 

And  swollen  with  torrent  and  waterfall, 
The  giant,  Offero,  man  of  might, 
Carried  a  Child,  both  fair  and  small. 

Light  as  a  feather,  the  Baby  hung 

By  His  slender  hands,  from  the  shoulders  strong ; 
It  seemed,  in  truth,  that  a  spirit  clung 

To  the  monster's  neck,  as  he  ploughed  along. 

But  lo  !  as  the  waters,  rising,  pour'd 

Their  misty  spray  on  that  brawny  breast, — 

In  the  deepest  part  of  the  darksome  ford, 
The  Boy  on  his  bearer  firmer  press'd. 

And  little  by  little,  the  weight  increased 
Till  the  great  feet  faltered  in  their  track ; 

A  mountain  of  lead,  at  the  very  least, 

Seemed  bending  and  crushing  the  stalwart  back  ! 


42  ST.  CHRISTOPHER'S  BURDEN. 

"  'Tis  the  weight  of  the  world !  " — he  groaned  in 

fear  ; 
But     a    sweet    Voice    murrnur'd:      "Be    not 

afraid !  " 

Not  the  weight  of  the  world  thou  earnest  here, 
But  HIM  by  whose  power  the  world  was  made !  " 

"  Who   art  Thou,  Child  ?  "—(as    the  sweatdrops 
sprang 

From  his  corded  temples) — the  giant  roared ; 
And  clear,  thro'  the  night,  the  answer  rang, 

Like  a  silver  trump — "I  am  Christ  the  Lord  !  " 

"  And  since  thou  hast  borne  Me  from  shore  to 

shore. 

And  thy  rest  and  thy  comfort  sacrific'd  ; — 
Behold  !  thou  art  Offer o,  now,  no  more, 
But  brave  Christofero — bearer  of  Christ !  " 

-:<-  #  *  *  -::- 

Sweet  legend !  cheering  the  weary  soul, 
As  it  fords  the  stream  of  a  fate  ill-starr'd  ; 


ST.    CHRISTOPHER  S    BURDEN. 

When  the  floods  in  their  fury,  fiercest,  roll, 
And  the  burden  of  Duty  presses  hard: 

Xo  need  to  envy  the  blessed  load 

The  saint  thro'  the  raging  waters  bore  ; 

For,  bearing  a  burden  imposed  by  God, 

We  are  all  St.  Christophers,  brave  and  broad, 
Carrying  Christ  to  the  heavenly  shore ! 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF  LIFFARDUS. 

I. 

||-EAR  a  little  silent  swamp, 

Lying  low  and  dark  and  damp 
In  the  shadow  of  an  abbey, 
(Famed  in  annals  mystical), 
Of  an  old  Cistercian  abbey, 
Far  away  in  ancient  Gaul, 
In  a  hut  among  the  kine 
Monk  Liffardus  kept  the  swine. 

II. 

Dreary  moss  upon  the  gables, 

Where  the  pens,  the  sties,  the  stables 
Filled  the  atmosphere  surrounding 

With  a  foul  and  noisome  scent — 
Dust  and  darkness  all  around  him, 

Monk  Liffardus  was  content, 

In  humility  divine, 

Tending  faithfully  the  swine. 


THE   TEMPTATION   OF   LIFFARDUS.  45 

III. 

Gently  born  and  gently  bred, 

It  might  seem  a  portion  dread, 
In  the  light  of  worldly  reason, 

To  endure  a  yoke  like  this  ; 
But  the  ever-changing  season 

Brought  a  never-changing  bliss 

To  the  hut  among  the  kine, 

Where  Liffardus  kept  the  swine. 

IV. 

Never-changing  till  the  day 

(In  those  ages  far  away), 
When  the  demon  in  his  malice 

Came  to  murmur  in  his  ear  : 
"  Didst  forsake  thy  father's  palace 

For  such  works  as  wait  thee  here  ? 

Shall  a  prince,  O  brother  mine, 

Stoop  to  grovel  with  the  swine  ?  " 

V. 

On  his  narrow  bed,  that  night, 
Full  of  anguish  and  affright, 


46  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    LIFFARDUS. 

Monk  Liffardus  lay,  temptation 
Brewing  fever  in  his  brain. 

Had  this  life  of  abnegation, 
After  all,  been  lived  in  vain  ? 
Gentle  birth  and  breeding  fine 
Cast,  like  pearls,  before  the  swine  ? 

VI. 

Should  he  rise  and  should  he  flee 
From  this  den  of  miser}*  ? 

Rise  and  flee  unto  the  castle 
On  his  father's  fair  domains, 

Where  the  merry  guests  make  wassail 
And  the  god  of  pleasure  reigns? 
Are  not  women,  song  and  wine, 
Better  comrades  than  the  swine  ? 

VII. 

Musing  thus  upon  his  bed, 
Lo  !  a  sudden  light  was  shed 

Through  the  darkness  of  the  gable, 
And  he  saw  an  angel's  face 

Filling  all  the  wretched  stable 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    L1FFAEDUS.  47 

With  its  glory  and  its  grace. 

"  Follow  me  !  "  the  sweet  voice  said, 

And  he  followed  where  it  led. 

VIII. 

Through  the  cloister,  through  the  j^ard, 
Through    the    church    (whose    doors,    un- 
barr'd 

By  the  hands  of  viewless  wardens, 
Opened  wide  before  the  twain), 

Lo  !  the  angel  and  Liffardus 
Came  at  last  to  Death's  domain, 
To  the  graveyard  grim  and  gray, 
Where  the  dead  Cistercians  lay. 

IX. 

Down  a  starry  vista  looms 

The  long  avenue  of  tombs, 
And  Liffardus  shrinks  with  terror 

From  the  view  on  ev'ry  side, 
For  the  earth  is  cleft  (O  horror  !) 

And  the  graves  are  open  wide  ! 


48  THE   TEMPTATION   OF   LIFFAKDUS. 

And  he  sees,  'mid  mold  and  worms, 
A  thousand  ghastly  forms  ! 

X. 

In  their  winding-sheets  laid  bare — 
All  the  balmy  midnight  air 

Is  pregnant  with  the  odor 
Of  their  terrible  decay. 

And  each  corse  (a  dread  foreboder) 
Seems  to  murmur,  "  Yesterday, 
Dearest  brother,  was  for  me, 
But  to-day  may  be  for  thee  !  " 


Then  the  angel  grave  and  stern 
On  the  trembling  monk  doth  turn, 

And  in  clarion -tones  out  crieth, 
"  O  thou  tempted  one  !  take  heed. 

When,  erelong,  thy  corse  low  lieth, 
And  the  worms  upon  it  feed, 
Will  earth's  pleasures,  gold  or  station, 
Profit  then  thy  soul's  salvation  ?  " 


THE    TEMPTATION   OF   LIFFARDUS.  49 

XII. 

Was  it  all  a  midnight  dream  ? 

— Silver- white  the  moonrays  stream 
On  the  pallet  poor  and  lowly 

Where  the  lone  LifFardus  lies. 
In  a  rapture  deep  and  holy, 

Doth  the  grateful  monk  arise, 

And,  with  moist  uplifted  eyes, 
Prayeth  softly,  prayeth  slowly, 

"  Everlasting  thanks  to  Thee, 

Source  of  meek  humility  ! 

XIII. 

"  Bearing  part  in  Christ's  dear  shame, 

Pride  and  pleasure,  wealth  and  fame, 
I  renounce  henceforth  forever  : 

Living  poor,  despised,  unknown, 
It  shall  be  my  chief  endeavor 

Thee  to  serve,  and  Thee  alone  ! 

For  Thy  sake,  O  Love  divine  ! 

'Twill  be  sweet  to  tend  the  swine  !  " 


ST.  NICHOLAS  AND  THE  DOVES. 
I. 


I 


IS  a  legend  of  the  past, 


(In  old  books  and  paintings  seen), 

Of  the  Augustinian  hermit 

t 

Nicholas  of  Tolentine  ; 

How  within  his  cell  he  lay 

Once  upon  his  pallet  bare, 

With  a  mortal  sickness  on  him 

Born  of  penance  and  of  prayer  ; 
While  the  sunshine,  like  a  flame, 
Thro'  the  western  window  came. 

II. 

How  it  lit  his  wasted  cheek, 

With  the  glory  of  the  skies  ! 

Touched  his  pale,  etherial  temples, 

And  illumed  his  lifted  eyes ; 
And  a  halo  seemed  to  shed 
Round  the  tonsure  on  his  head  ! 


ST.    NICHOLAS    AND    THE    DOVES.  51 

III. 

Till  lie  cried  :  "  O  brothers  !  see, 
What  a  glorious  light  it  is  ! 
Jacob's  ladder,  thronged  with  angels, 
Must  have  been,  indeed,  like  this  ! 
For  the  blessed  spirits  go 
Up  and  down,  with  constant  wing, 
With  their  tender  voices  calling 
And  their  white  hands  beckoning  ! 

Ah  !  if  God  should  deem  it  best, 

I  would  fain  go  up  and  rest !  " 

IV. 

But  the  Prior  said  :  "Nay,  nay," 

(Bending  o'er  his  saintly  son), 

"  Thou  must  not  depart,  Nicolo, 

Till  thy  ministry  is  done. 
And  it  is  the  Master's  will 
(Since  thou  art  so  faint  and  ill), 

For  a  time  thou  shouldst  relax 

Those  austerities  of  thine 


52  ST.    NICHOLAS    AND    THE   DOVES. 

Which  have  worn  thy  feeble  body, 

To  a  shadow, — son  of  mine  ! 
Therefore,  thro'  obedience, 
Thou  must  break  thine  abstinence." 

V. 

At  a  sign,  a  monk  appeared, 

Bearing  on  a  wooden  di^h 

Two  small  doves  (a  feast  prepared 

Solely  at  the  Prior's  wish) : 
And  the  good  Superior 
Turning  to  the  saint  once  more, 

Said  :  "  O  true  and  faithful  son  ! 

Make  thy  victory  complete  ; 

Scorning  ev'ry  foolish  scruple, — 

Take,  and  through  obedience,  eat !  " 

VI. 

Nicholas  looked  up  and  smiled, 
Tranquil  as  a  little  child  : 

Took,  with  outstretch 'd  hand,  the  doves 


ST.    NICHOLAS    AND    THE   DOVES.  53 

(Roasted  at  the  Prior's  wish), 

And  serenely  made  the  symbol 
Of  the  cross  above  the  dish. 

VII. 

Lo  !  a  miracle  of  faith  ! 
Ere  the  monks  a  word  could  utter, 
They  beheld  the  little  creatures 
On  the  dish  begin  to  flutter,— 

Ope  their  eyes  and  stretch  their  wings, 

Happy,  shining,  living  things  ! 

VIII. 

Thro'  the  sunny  window  fell 

Ivy  shadows  on  the  floor  : 
And  a  fragrance  from  the  garden 

Floated  thro'  the  open  door. 
It  was  spring-time  in  the  land, 

(Tender  grass  and  golden  mist), 
As  the  little  doves  exulting 

Settled  on  Nicole's  wrist ; 
Then,  up-soaring  thro'  the  air, 


54  ST.    NICHOLAS   AND   THE    DOVES. 

While  the  hermit  smiling  lay, 
Round  his  bed  went  sailing,  sailing, 
In  a  graceful,  grateful  way, — 
'Till,  at  last,  (the  window  neared), 
Thro'  the  vines,  they  disappeared ! 


THE  TRUE  CHRISTMAS  TREE. 
I. 

'HE  Sagas  tell  in  Norseland, 
.^     Of  mighty  Ygdra  Sel,— 

The    sacred,    three- prong'd    Ash- 
tree, 

Which  heaven,  earth  and  hell 
Sustains  and  binds  together  ; 
While,  from  its  roots  up-spring 
Three  fountains,  whence  the  Virtues 
Are  ever  issuing. 

II. 

Veiled  in  the  Sagas'  story 

Is  Calvary's  blest  Tree — 

Earth,  heaven,  purgatory, 

Its  Rood-borne  trinity. 

While  from  its  roots  three  fountains 

Forever  leap  and  shine — 

Well-springs  of  all  God's  graces, 

Faith,  Hope  and  Love  divine  ! 


ST.    WULSTAN9  8  CROZIER. 
HE  Norman  king  and  the  Norman  courtiers 

ML 

Spake  of  old  to  the  Saxon  saint, 
Wulstan,  bishop  of  ancient  Worcester, 
Last  of  the  Saxon  prelates  quaint : 

"  Thy  beard  is  long  and  thy  Saxon  jargon 

Soundeth  rude  to  our  Norman  ears,— 
Doff  thy  mitre,  resign  thy  crozier!  " 

—The  eyes  of  Wulstan  swam  with  tears, 

As  down  he  stepped  from  his  grand  old  minster, 

Down  to  the  ancient  abbey  came, 
Unto  the  tomb  of  sainted  Edward, 

King,  Confessor,  of  deathless  fame. 

There,  in  the  midst  of  the  Norman  courtiers, 
Praying,  he  faced  their  eyes  of  gloom, — 

DorTd  his  mitre,  and  smote  Ids  crozier 

Firm  on  the  stone  of  the  dead  king's  tomb. 


ST.  WULSTAN'S  CROZIER.  57 

Ope'd  the  marble  hand  of  the  monarch, 

(Hid  below  in  its  cavern  cold,) 
Caught  the  gilded  staff  of  the  bishop, 

Clutched  it  fast  in  its  rigid  hold. 

Bare  of  head,  with  his  feet  unsandaled, 
Wulstan  knelt  at  the  royal  shrine  ; — 

Wrestled  the  while  the  proud  invaders, 
Seeking  to  free  the  staff  divine. 

Vainly  their  martial  hands  assailed  it, 
Vainly  shook  it  with  arms  of  might, 

King,  Confessor,  the  sainted  Edward 
Kept  firm  hold  of  the  crozier  bright. 

Till,  spent  with  struggle,  and  half- affrighted, 
Cried  to  the  Saint,  the  malcontents  : 

"  Don  thy  mitre, — -resume  thy  crozier — 
Be  sure  we  meant  thee  no  offence  !  " 

Sweet  the  smile  of  the  brave  old  bishop 

"  See  how  God  protects  His  own  I 
His  the  power,  and  His  the  crozier  ! " 
— And  lo  !  with  ease,  with  a  calm  composure, 

He  drew  the  staff  from  the  yielding  stone  I 


THE  MASTERS  CLOAK. 


the  archway,  carved  and  quaint, 
(In  th'  hush  of  the  court  yard,  bleak,  for- 

lorn), 

Zita,  the  wonderful  servant-saint, 
Stood  at  the  dawn  of  a  winter's  morn 

Zita,  whose  modest  eyes  now  shine 
From  many  a  rich  Italian  shrine  : 
Zita,  whose  visage  mild  and  brown, 
(Under  its  gemm'd  and  golden  crown), 
From  many  a  splendid  niche  looks  down  ; 
There,  in  the  days  of  her  poor  estate, 
—  Centuries  gone,  in  Lucca  town,  — 
Stood  in  the  dawn  at  her  master's  gate, 
Lantern  in  hand,  about  to  pass 
Forth,  in  the  gloom,  to  the  blessed  Mass. 

Ah  !  what  a  pitiless  dawn  it  was  ! 

Keen  and  raw  was  the  wind  that  blew  : 


THE  MASTER'S  CLOAK.  59 

E'en  in  the  instant's  fleeting  pause, 

It  pierced  the  maiden  through  and  through ; 
And  her  scanty  shawl  and  her  raiment  thin 
Were  drench'd  with  the  rain  as  it  drifted  in. 
Angel-eyes  thro'  the  shadows  bent 
Their  looks  of  love  on  the  lonely  girl ; 
Over  the  portal,  came  and  went 
Beautiful  shapes  on  their  wings  of  pearl. 

But  other  presence  than  angels  fair 
Followed  the  maid  as  she  linger'd  there, 
And  a  pair  of  eyes  at  the  latticed  pane, 
Were  moist  with  something  that  was  not  rain. 

"  Zita  !  " — she  started,  half  afraid, 

(The  voice  was  full  of  a  grave  command. 

And  the  circle  of  light  her  lantern  made 

Revealed  her  master  close  at  hand)  : 

"  Zita,  poor  child !  your  shawl  is  old, 

The  rain  falls  fast,  and  the  wind  blows  cold. 

Take  this,  my  daughter," — and,  while  he  spoke, 

He  folded  about  her  his  ermine  cloak, 

And,  ere  she  could  utter  a  word,  had  pass'd 

Through  the  court-yard  gate,  and  lock'd  it  fast. 


60  THE  MASTER'S  CLOAK. 

Merrily  sweet,  like  a  skylark  singing, 
A  bell,  high  up  thro'  the  rain,  was  ringing, 
And  Zita  followed  the  well-known  sound 
With  feet  that  scarcely  touched  the  ground ; 
Her  heart,  like  a  chalice  of  precious  wine, 
Running  over  and  over  with  faith  divine. 

Close  to  the  church-porch  dimly  grand, 

A  beggar  was  kneeling  with  outstretch 'd  hand, 

Kneeling,  unshorn,  on  the  cold,  wet  flags, 

A  mass  of  ulcers,  half-clothed  with  rags ; 

Such  hopeless  want  in  his  abject  air, 

That  Zita  paused  with  a  murmured  prayer. 

Silver  or  gold  she  had  none  to  give, — 
For  the  maiden's  purse  was  a  ceaseless  sieve, 
(Sifting  Love's  alms  over  shrine  and  street) ; 
But,  tender  and  true,  in  her  breast  arose 
A  marvellous  balm  for  the  beggar's  woes ; 
And  her  tears  of  sympathy,  warm  and  sweet, 
Fell  with  the  rain  on  his  naked  feet. 

Could  she  kneel  to  pray  in  a  cloak  of  fur, 
While  the  robe  of  her  Lord  was  torn  and  scant? 


THE  MASTER'S  CLOAK.  61 

Would  His  gracious  ear  incline  to  her, 

If  she  left  Him  to  perish  of  cold  and  want? 

With  never  a  thought  that  the  gift  belonged 

To   one   whom   she  would  not,  for  worlds,   have 

wronged, 

She  saw  but  her  Lord  in  the  beggar's  form, 
And  cast  on  his  shoulders  the  mantle  warm; 
Then,  hurrying  in  to  a  secret  spot 
In  the  grand  old  church,  all  else  forgot, 
She  fell  on  her  knees  and  knew  no  more 
Till  the  night  drew  near.     ...     At  the  castle- 
door, 

She  stood  with  her  own  poor  garments  on, 
And  the  rich  fur  cloak  of  the  master  gone  ! 

Out  of  the  portal  looked  a  face 

With  serious  eyes  and  flowing  beard ; 
Under  the  swinging  lamp,  appeared 
A  reverend  presence,  full  of  grace. 
"  Zita  !  — (how  grave  and  stern  he  spoke  !) 
"  What  hast  thou  done  with  thy  master's  cloak  ?  " 


62  THE  MASTER'S  CLOAK. 

The  maiden,  fearing  to  move  or  speak, 
Bowed  to  the  dust  with  a  blushing  cheek, 
While  the  penitent  tears  began  to  swim 
In  her  lovely  eyes,  downcast  and  dim. 

"Zita,  I  charge  thee,  speak  the  truth, 
And  thou  shalt  not  suffer  hurt  or  harm," — 
A  pause, — a  rustle  of  wings, — forsooth, 
It  filled  the  maid  with  a  vague  alarm, 
Behold  !  in  the  midst,  a  princely  youth 
Stood  with  t/te  lost  cloak  on  his  arm  ! 

Brighter  than  diamonds  were  his  eyes, 
Richer  than  gold  his  sunny  hair  ; 
The  master  kneeling,  in  grave  surprise, 
Knew  that  an  angel  had  enter'd  there. 
And  he  hid  his  face  with  awe,  and  prayed 
As  the  stranger  pass'd  to  the  servant-maid, 
Pass'd  on  to  Zita,  with  pinions  fleet, 
And  laid  the  cloak  at  her  humble  feet. 

Then,  there  were  bursts  of  seraph-singing, 
And  tinkle  of  harps,  and  cymbals  ringing  • 


THE  MASTER'S  CLOAK.  63 

While  heavenly  light  and  odors  rare 
Filled  with  splendor  the  dusky  air. 

But  over  it  all,  supremely  free, 
One  glorious  Voice,  thro'  the  rise  and  fall 
Of  the  angel -chorus,  seemed  to  call ; 
"  O  love  !  O  dove!  I  am  debtor  to  thee, 
And  blessed  forever  shalt  thon  be  ; 
For  inasmuch  as  thou  didst  this  deed, 
Unto  the  beggar  in  his  need, 
Zita,  thou  didst  it  unto  Me  !  " 


FORTY  MARTYRS  OF  SEBASTE. 

I. 

Y  souls,  intrepid,  pure, 
Strong  to  suffer  and  endure, 
Forty  soldiers  of  Sebaste, 
Christian  soldiers,  long  ago, 
For  their  faith  were,  naked,  cast 
In  a  pool  of  ice  and  snow. 

II. 

Close  at  hand,  across  the  path, 
Stood  a  warm,  delicious  bath, 
Where,  beneath  the  star-light  dim, 
Any  coward,  sin-entic'd, 
Might  immerse  each  frozen  limb, 
And  apostatize  from  Christ. 

III. 

Up  and  down  the  pathway  cold 
Strode  the  pagan-keeper  bold; 


FORTY   MARTYRS    OF    SEBASTE.  65 

O'er  the  victims  keeping  guard, — 
Watching  till  the  fight  was  done, 
Watching  till  the  struggle  hard, 
With  the  martyr's  crown,  was  won. 

IV. 

Martyr's  crown  ?  The  keeper  raised 
Wond'ring  eyes,  which  wildly  gazed 
On  a  vision  in  the  air  ! — 
O'er  the  pool,  thro'  star-light  soft, 
Angel-shapes  were  floating  fair, 
Bearing  starry  crowns  aloft ! 

V. 

Crowns  for  all?    Ah!  no,  ah  !  no, — 
As  the  pagan  reckon'd  slow, 
Counting  out  the  chaplets  rare, 
Floating  in  a  mystic  line, — 

Forty  victims  suffered  there, 

Crowns  there  were  but  thirty-nine  ! 


66  FOKTY    MARTYRS    OF    SEBASTE. 

VI. 

Mused  the  keeper,  full  of  awe, 
On  this  sight, — when  lo !  he  saw, 
In  a  trice,  from  out  the  pond, 
One  apostate,  weak  and  young, 
Who,  despairing,  rush'd  beyond, 
And  into  the  warm  bath  sprung  ! 

VII. 

Rang  aloft  a  piercing  cry  ! — 
On  the  instant  doom'd  to  die, 
Faith,  and  life,  and  Heaven  lost — 
Sank  the  poor,  deluded  fool ! — 
Swift  uside  his  garments  toss'd, 
Sprang  the  keeper  in  the  pool ! 

VIII. 

"Christ,  my  God  !  I  believe  !  "  he  said, 
"  Let  me  suffer  in  his  stead  !  " — 
Then  the  long,  cold  hours  pass'd.    .    . 
But  when  morning  mastered  night, 
Forty  martyrs  of  Sebaste 
Wore  in  Heaven  their  crowns  of  light ! 


THE  KEY  OF  HE  A  YEN. 

RN  an  old  Franciscan  cloister, 

In  the  fair  South-Germany, 
Lay  the  convent-tailor  dying, 
Holy  old  lay-brother,  he. 

Holy  Brother  Bonaventure, 
He  had  labored  long  and  well : 

On  his  bed,  amid  his  brethren, 
Lay  he  dying  in  his  cell. 

All  the  solemn  prayers  were  uttered, 
All  the  sacred  rites  were  given, — 

Spake  the  dying  from  his  pillo\v, 
"  Bring  to  me  my  Key  of  Heaven." 

"  Key  of  Heaven  ?— Call  the  Prior  !  " 
And  the  Prior  softly  came, 

Bringing  to  the  sinking  friar 
An  old  missal  of  that  name. 


68  THE   KEY   OF    HEAVEN". 

Slow  the  dying  head  was  shaken, — 
"  Key  of  Heaven  ?  "   Quick  as  thought, 

Crucifix,  and  Rule,  and  Chaplet, 

To  the  monk,  in  turn,  were  brought. 

All  in  vain. — The  brethren  marveled: 
What  could  be  the  Key  he  craved  ? 

Surely  such  demand  unusual 
Was  the  plea  of  one  who  raved. 

Last,  uprose  an  aged  friar, 

Bowed  obedience  left  and  right, 

From  a  nook  beside  the  fire, 

Brought  a  something  small  and  bright ; 

Brought  it  to  the  bed,  and  placed  it 
Where  they  saw  it  thro'  their  tears, 

'Twas  the  needle  of  the  tailor, 

Wherewith  he  had  wrought  for  years ! 

Ah  !  to  see  the  dim  eyes  brighten  ! 

Ah !  to  see  the  white  lips  smile  ! 
Round  the  tool  the  chill  hands  tightened, 

Broken  words  he  spake  the  while  : 


THE   KEY   OF   HEAVEST.  69 

"  Many  years,  old  friend,  we've  labored, — 

Ev'ry  stitch  I  made  with  thee 
Was  for  God's  dear  glory  taken — 

For  the  blest  Eternity  ! 

"  Now,  when  life's  last  cords  are  riven, 
Blessed  needle  !  "  (soft  he  cries), — 

"  Thou  shalt  be  my  Key  of  Heaven, 
Thou  shalt  ope  my  Paradise  ! " 

• 

On  the  instant,  fled  the  spirit, 

Smiling  in  his  waxen  rest, 
Lay  the  Brother  Bona venture 

With  the  needle  on  his  breast. 

All  the  monks  around  him  kneeling, 

(Startled  at  such  swift  release,) 
Question  with  the  deepest  feeling, 

"  Doth  he  truly  rest  in  peace  ?  " 

"  Brethren  !  "  prays  the  weeping  Prior, 

"  May  his  end  to  all  be  given  ! 
May  the  life-work  of  each  friar 

Be,  indeed,  his  Key  to  Heaven!" 


ESTRADAS  SPOUSE. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  PERSIAN  PRINCESS. 


her  palace,  in  the  Hall  of  Mirrors, 
One  glorious  clay  in  Spring  — 
^d  a^  tne  glamour  of  the  glittering 

mirrors, 
The  daughter  of  the  King, 


A  Princess,  young  and  innocent  and  tender, 

Sat  silent  and  alone, 
In  satin  robes,  whose  wealth  of  trailing  splendor 

Half-veiled  her  ivory  throne. 

Her  lustrous  eyes  like  liquid  sapphires  gleaming, 

Her  white  hand  'neath  her  head  — 
The     noble     maid    was     dreaming  —  dreaming  — 
dreaming 

Of  him  she  soon  should  wed. 


ESTRADA'S  SPOUSE.  71 

Her  Persian  prince  ;  how  grand  his  royal  bearing! 

How  grave  his  manly  face  ! 
His  soul  so  full  of  chivalry  and  daring  ! 

His  form  so  full  of  grace ! 

'Mid  all  the  flower  of  her  father's  courtiers, 

Was  none  as  fair  as  Tie  ! 

"  O  prince  of  men !  "  she  sighed,  and  blushing 
faltered, 

"  Who  can  compare  with  thee  ?  " 

Lo  !  on  the  instant,  swift  as  though  it  lightened, 

A  glory  filled  the  air  ; 

And  all  the  lofty  room  was  warmed  and  bright 
ened 

By  one  grand  Presence  there  ! 

No  mortal  eye  had  seen  the  Stranger  enter, 

No  ear  had  heard  His  tread, 
Yet  there,  resplendent,  in  the  chamber's  centre, 

He  stood  unheralded. 


72  ESTRADA'S  SPOUSE. 

A  tall  and  stately  shape,  divinely  niouldeu, 

In  regal  vestments  clad  ; 
His  floating  hair  and  beard,  a  halo  golden, 

Around  a  visage  glad. 

Deep,  earnest  eyes,  supremely  true  and  tender, 

A  brow  majestic,  mild, 
Upon  the  startled  maiden  fair  and  tender, 

The  radiant  Vision  smiled. 

"  Behold  !  "  He  sighed,  and  (strange  to  say)  as 
slowly 

He  raised  His  gracious  Hand, 
Across  the  velvet  of  its  palm  all  holy, 

She  saw  a  Wound  expand. 

A  deep  red  Wound,  which,  like  a  flaming  jewel, 

Shone  with  a  ruddy  light : 

Ah !  who  (she  thought)  had  dared  with  weapon 
cruel 

That  beauteous  Hand  to  smite  ? 


ESTRADA'S  SPOUSE.  78 

"  Look  round !  "  He  said :  and  then,  the  king's 
fair  daughter, 

Turning,  beheld  it  all ! — 
Like  clearest  stretch  of  calm,  unruffled  water, 

The  mirrors  on  the  wall 

Reflected  back  the  beauty  and  the  glory, 

Of  that  Eternal  King— 
Whose  endless  praise  in  sweetest  song  and  story 

The  Bards  of  Heaven  sing. 

"  Hear,  and  take  heed,  O  child  of  My  affection  !  " 

The  dulcet  Voice  pursued, 
"  Each  faithful  mirror's  pure  and  true  reflection 

Of  Mine  own  pulchritude  : 

"  Each  curve,   and  tint,  and  line — each  shining 
shimmer 

Of  robes  reflected  there  , 
The  Brow,  the  Lip,  the  Eye — the  golden  glimmer 

Of  every  single  hair, 


74  ESTRADA  S    SPOUSE. 

"  Are  symbols,  clear  Estrada,  of  My  creatures 

In  whom  My  beauties  shine  : 
The  human  soul's  celestial  form  and  features, 

Reflecting  the  Divine  ! 

"  And  wilt  thou  love  the  unsubstantial  shadow 

More  than  the  substance  true  ? 
O  virgin  Princess  !  innocent  Estrada, 

Wilt  thou,  in  vain,  pursue 

"  An  apparition  fair,  but  falsely  fleeting, 

Which  fades  before  'tis  won  ; 
A  bright  chimera  evermore  retreating 

Before  the  changeless  One  ? 

"  Look  on  My  Wounds,  and  tell  me,  young  Estrada, 

Shall  phantoms  claim  thy  vows? 
Wilt  thou,  indeed,  prefer  this  mortal  shadow 

To  thine  immortal  Spouse  ?  " 

— The  Persian  princess  heard,  and,  swift  uprising, 

Drew  close  her  virgin  zone  ; 
With  burning  love,  with  faith  and  hope  surprising, 

She  stepp'd  from  off  her  throne. 


ESTRADA'S  SPOUSE.  75 

Her  lovely  face  aglow  with  glad  decision, 

(O  maid,  supremely  blest !) 
Her  arms,  like  lilies,  twining  round  the  Vision, 

Her  head  upon  His  breast, — 

In    ringing    tones,    she    cries  :     "  The    dream   is 
over  I — 

No  bride  of  earth  I'll  be  ! 
O  Lord,  my  God  !  my  first  Eternal  Lover ! 

I  leave  all  loves  for  Thee!" 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  FEAST. 

'O-NIGHT  in  far-off,  quaint  Liguria, 

This  CHRISTMAS  EVE,  in  Genoa  the  fair, — 
Fair,  even  thro'  the  veil  of  dim  despair 
Which  later  lawless  years  have  roughly  spread 
Over  the  glory  of  her  classic  head, — 
This  sacred  Eve,  in  ancient  Genoa, 
The  silvern  bells  are  swinging  thro'  the  hush 
Of  night's  high  noon ;  and  all  the  city  swarms 

Unto  the  Midnight  Mass.  Gay,  motley  forms, 
Whose  olive  faces  in  the  darkness  flush 
With  tenderest  emotions, — lo  !  they  hold 
To  one  devout  tradition,  still  most  dear, 
(A  Christian  idyl),  which,  from  year  to  year, 
Renews  itself  in  pastoral  delight; 
A  relic  of  the  ages  primitive, — a  rite, 
Sublimely  grand,  and  touching  to  behold,— 

It  glorifies  the  Christ-Child's  natal  night! 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  FEAST.  77 

When  midnight  frosts  upon  the  mountains  creep, 
The  shepherds  from  the  Alps  descend  in  pairs  : 
Fresh,  stalwart  youths,  and  men  with  silver  hairs, 
And  little  sturdy  boys,  (who  lead  the  sheep 
To  grassy  spots  upon  the  pastures  steep), — 
Like  chamois,  from  the  mountains  springing  down, 
They  march,  in  pairs,  across  the  dusky  town. 

Erect  and  grave  the  troop — with  faces  brown, 
Their  hair  unshorn,  their  torn  cloaks  fluttering, 
Hardy  as  oaks  their  native  snow-drifts  crown, 
They  from  their  vigils  and  their  scanty  sleep, — 
While  flaring  torch-flames  o'er   them   blaze   and 

leap—, 
Have  snatched  this  hour  to  march,  and,  marching, 

sing 
The  praises  of  the  new-born  Saviour-King ! 

With  many  a  Christmas  carol,  quaint  and  old, 
Pealing  in  liquid  sweetness  from  their  throats, 
On,  thro'  through  the  crowded  Strada,  bright  and 
cold; 


78  THE  SHEPHERD'S  FEAST. 

'Neath  vi'let  skies,  which  many  a  star  doth  gem, 
(So  like  the  skies  of  ancient  Bethlehem, 
And  they  so  like  the  ancient  shepherds  bold  I) 
The  strange  procession,  as  a  vision,  floats 
Into  the  church,  ablaze  with  pearls  and  gold, 
Where  all  of  Genoa  seems  waiting  them. 

A  murmur,  as  from  wind-blown  forests,  stirs 
The    mighty  throng  ;    and  thro'  them,  marching 

mute, 

(Their  cheeks  like  roseate,  o'er-ripen'd  fruit,) 
These  simple  shepherds,  these  grave  worshippers, 
Poor  as  the  Christ  they  hasten  to  adore, — 
Are  swift  assigned  by  sumptuous  officers, 
The  post  of  honor  on  that  sacred  floor. 

They  kneel — they  kiss  the  dust,  prostrated  low; 
O  Gloria  in  excelsis  ! — from  behind 
A  curtain,  soar  wild  cloves  as  white  as  snow, 
Released  from  jesses  of  the  purest  flax ; 
Meek  emblems  of  the  Et  in  terra  pax  ! 
— The  angel's  song  in  their  soft  plaint  doth  find 
Celestial  echoes,  musical  and  low. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  FEAST.  79 

'Tis  well.     The  nobles  and  the  knights  make  way, 
And  all  the  civic  troops,  with  banners  gay, 
Follow  in  file  ;  (what  time  their  armor  bright 
Flashes  and  sparkles  in  the  torches'  light,) 
The  flow'r  of  court  and  camp,  alike,  give  way, 
To  form  a  background  to  that  strange  display, 
And  kneel  amid  the  common  herd,  to-night. 

Shepherds,  alone,  on  this  the  SHEPHERDS'  FEAST, 
Sons  of  the  Alpine  avalanche  and  storm, 
Precursors  of  the  Monarchs  of  the  East, — 
Alone,  to-night,  must  circle  shrine  and  priest, 
And  with  their  glowing  hearts  a  bulwark  form 
To  keep  the  dear  BAMBINO  safe  and  warm  ! 

O,  Blessed  Babe !  now  art  thou  born  again 

In." House  of  Bread"        O,  grave,  adoring  men  ! 

With  streaming  eyes,  lift  up  your  hardy  hands, 

And  offer  your  ex-voto  beautiful, — 

A  little,  fleecy  lamb,  with  many  bands 

Of  rainbow-ribbons,  brightening  its  wool ; — 

*  Bethlehem— the  House  of  Bread. 


80  THE  SHEPHERD'S  FEAST. 

Type  of  the  Lamb  of  God !    His  golden  rule, 
Well  doth  it  image,  creature  meek  and  fair ; 
And  thus  the  old  tradition,  ripe  with  prayer, 
And  mellow  with  the  harvest-heats  of  Time, 
Repeats  its  tableau,  simple  yet  sublime, 

This  CHRISTMAS  EVE  in  Genoa,  the  rare. 


THE  TEMPTED  NUN. 

j>J§lNCE,  it  chanced  for  our  instruction,  full 

three  hundred  years  agone, 
In  an  old  Italian  convent  lived  and  toiled 
a  saintly  nun. 

Fast  and  prayer  and  bitter  penance  had  her  flesh 

transparent  made, 
Till  the  grace  of  God  shone  thro'  her,  as  a  lamp 

thro'  crystal  shade. 

But,  the  while  a  saintly  unction  penetrated  all  she 

did, 
Like  a  serpent,  in  her  bosom  lay  a  cruel  sorrow 

hid. 

Day  and  night  that  true  heart  panted  with  a 
terror  never  calmed, 

By  a  dread  voice  ever  haunted  :— "  Thou  art  des 
tined  to  be  damned  ! 


82  THE   TEMPTED   NUN. 

"  Do  thy  lest  and  strive  thy  strongest,  Hell  is  thine 

eternal  lot  !  " 
— So  the  wild  temptation  lasted, — though  her  will 

consented  not. 

But,  at  length,  when  life  grew  weary  with  the 

anguish  of  her  fate, 
Led  by  God,  Saint  Philip  Neri  came  to  speak  her 

at  the  grate. 

On  her  knees,  the  suff'ring  Sister  poured  her  sor 
rows  in  his  ear, — 

Sobbing,  broke  the  seal  of  silence  ; — spake  in 
words  her  secret  fear. 

Joyous  smiled  the  blithe  Saint  Philip  :    "  Christ 

was  slain  for  sinners.     Now, 
By   that    Blood    that   opened   heaven, — tell    me, 

daughter,  what  art  thou  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  a  most  unworthy  sinner  !  " — and  her  tears 
began  to  shine  ; 

"Then  rejoice!"  cried  out  Saint  Philip,  "Para 
dise  is  thine — is  thine  !  " 


THE   TEMPTED   NUN.  83 

As   the   lightning   cleaves   and   scatters  noxious 

vapors  with  its  dart, 
Hope,  that  hour,  drove  the  darkness  from  the 

poor  nun's  brain  and  heart. 

Buoyant  sped  she  to  the  choir, — buoyant  sped 

she  to  the  class, 
Such  a  sunshine  gushing  from  her,  it  was  joy  to 

see  her  pass. 

Never  more  the  foul  temptation  made  her  saintly 

soul  its  shrine  ; 
Till  her  death  her  heart  kept  singing  :   "  Paradise 

is  mine — is  mine  !  " 


SIR  VERITAS  AND  THE  KING. 


^ffHE    courtiers  gathered  round  the  throne 

;     I  .  ~-  and  plied  the  King  with  praises  : 

*  I  Ir  / 
£^L<      u  \Viser  art  thou  than  Solomon  !  "  cried 

they  in  fulsome  phrases  : 

"  Greater  than  David  in  the  prime  of  all  his  regal 

glory  ; 
Braver  than  he  of  feudal  time,  renown  'd  in  song 

and  story  : 

"  Thy  manly  beauty  is  the  theme  that  thrills  the 

bards  with  pleasure  ; 
The  wealth  of  Ind  melts  like  a  dream  before  thy 

golden  treasure!  " 

So,  link  by  link,  they  forged  a  chain  to  bind  their 

royal  master 
Unto  their  ends.     A  cloud  of  pain,  a  foreshade  of 

disaster 


SIR   VERITAS   AND    THE   KING.  85 

Loomed    darkly   on    the   monarch's   front.      He 

turned  in  sudden  anger 
To   one  who,  silent,  bore  the  brunt  of  all  that 

courtly  clangor : 

Sir  Veritas,  his  oldest  knight,  his  bravest  and  his 

wisest : 
"  We  pray  thee,  sirrah,  speak  outright  the  scorn 

thou  ill  disguisest ! 

"  Silent  may  fare  that  tongue  of  thine,  but  mute 

are  not  these  glances 
Which  smite  our  heart  with  force  condign,  like 

stroke  of  poison'd  lances  ! 

"  Speak,  Veritas  !  "  The  courtier  old  stood  forth 
before  his  fellows, 

Witli  brow  as  stern,  with  mien  as  bold,  as  daunt 
less  as  Othello's: 

"  I  cannot  join  these  sycophants  in  lauding  thee, 

my  sire  ; 
For  indignation's  burning  lance  hath  smote  me 

with  its  fire. 


86  SIR   VEtUTAS    AND   THE    KING. 

"If  thou  wert  wise  as  Solomon,  and  greater  far 

than  David, 
Or  hadst  thou,  lion-hearted  one,  our  cause  from 

ruin  save'd, 

"•  Right  gladly  would  I  add  my  meed  to  swell  thy 

tide  of  glory, 
To  bid  thee  live,  in  word  and  deed,  renown'd  in 

song  and  story  ; 

"  But  hear,  O  King!  the  bitter  truth  from  tongue 

that  ne'er  deceived  thee — 
Thou  art  a  tyrant  without  ruth — our  wrongs  have 

never  grieved  thee  I 

"  Thy  people's  miseries  have  ne'er  divorced  thee 

from  thy  treasures, 
Their  hunger  and  their  gaunt  despair  have  never 

dash'd  thy  pleasures  ! 

"  They  groaned  beneath  their  weary  load  ;  thine 

ears  have  hearkened  gaily. 
The  ocean  of  their  tears  hath  flowed  around  thy 

footstool  daily  ; 


SIR    VERITAS   AND   THE   KING.  87 

"  But  tliou  wert  blind,  as  well  as  deaf ;  on  Self 

thy  thoughts  were  centred  ; 
Lo !  to  thy  closet,  hope-bereft,  Nemesis  now  hath 

entered  !  " 

Out  leaped  the  great  soul  of  the  King,  from  eyes 

with  wonder  flaming  ; 
He  glared  around  upon  that  ring  of  serfs,  their 

falsehood  shaming ; 

Glared  fiercely  on  those  parasites  who  spake  him 

but  to  flatter  ; 
"  Come,    Veritas — reform    these   knights — whose 

coward  teeth  do  chatter  ! 

"  Reform  them  in  thy  valiant  school,  wherein  are 

fashioned  heroes  ; 
Who  speaks  of  fame  (if  knave  or  fool),  confounds 

our  fame  with  Nero's  ! 

"  O.    Veritas  !  " — (pride    at    an    end — the    strong 

man's  tears  fast  streaming) — 
"  Praise  God  for  one  just,  fearless  friend,  above 

all  venal  scheming  ! 


88  SIR    VERITAS   AND   THE   KING. 

"  Our  premier  be  thou,  henceforth,  with  wisdom 

crown'd,  and  beauty, 
Who  dared  to  tell  thy  King  the  truth,  and  nerve 

him  to  his  duty." 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  LAMP. 

I. 

ER  maiden  face,  so  grave  and  sweet 

Is  full  of  gentle  majesty ; 
From   curl-crown'd  Head  to  dim 
pled  Feet, 

The  infant  Christ  is  fair  to  see  ; 
And  on  the  Mother's  left, — behold! 

A  lamp  of  bronze,  antique  and  quaint, 
Whose  wind-blown  flame  of  fiery  gold, 
Glows,  like  a  gem,  'mid  shadows  faint. 

II. 

Her  virgin  hand  that  lamp  hath  trimm'd ; 

Beside  its  lustre,  pure  and  mild, 
Oft  hath  she  wrought; — with  rays  undimm'd, 

Oft  held  it  o'er  her  sleeping  Child  • 
Or,  in  the  window  of  the  room, 

Hath  set  it,  trembling  like  a  star, 


90  OUR    LADY   OF    THE    LAMP. 

To  cheer  St.  Joseph  thro'  the  gloom, 
And  guide  his  footsteps  from  afar. 

III. 

O  gracious  Lady  of  the  Lamp  ! 

We,  too,  like  Joseph,  need  thy  light ; 
Our  path  is  dim  with  shadows  damp, 

We  grope  towards  thee  thro'  the  night. 
The  world's  true  Light  is  in  thine  arms; 

Ah !  lift  Plim  high,  and  let  Him  shine 
Upon  our  darkness  ;  naught  alarms 

The  soul  which  hails  that  Lamp  divine  ! 

IV. 

And  when  along  the  vale  of  Death, 

We  journey  slowly  to  our  home, 
The  Home,  sweet  Home  of  Christian  faith, 

Which  rears  afar  its  azure  dome  : 
Ah  !  leaning  from  the  window's  height, 

Swing  forth  thy  lamp  across  the  gloom, 
And  lead  us,  Lady  of  the  Light ! 

Safe  thro'  the  shadows  of  the  tomb ! 


THE  FRUIT  OF  OBEDIENCE. 


O,"  said  the  Abbot  to  hermit  John, 
"  Take  the  staff  thou  leanest  on, 


Plant  it  deep  in  the  desert's  sand, 
And  water  it  daily  with  lavish  hand, 

Till  it  beareth  fruit !  " 
Humble  of  heart,  and  grave,  and  mute, 

The  hermit  bowed,  and  the  word  obeyed. 
The  spring  gushed  clear  in  the  distant  glade, 
And  many  a  weary  step  he  took 
Ere  the  water  was  brought  from  the  crystal 
brook 

To  the  planted  staff, 

Where  plenty  had  come  to  nod  and  laugh 
At  the  gray-hair'd  Brother's  simplicity. 
Lo  !  at  the  wane  of  summers  three, 
The  staff  took  root  in  the  sand  one  day, 
Blossomed  and  bloomed  in  a  wondrous  way, 


92  THE   FRUIT    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

And  beauteous  bore — 
Of  luscious  fruit,  such  a  golden  store ; 
The  aged  hermit,  full  of  glee, 
Plucked  it  fast  from  the  bending  tree, 
And,  where  the  monks  at  the  Abbot's  feet, 
Sat  in  the  cloister's  cool  defence, 
Cried  to  his  brethren  :    *"  Take  and  eat, — 
It  is  the  fruit  of  obedience  !  " 


AN  EAST3R  LESSON. 

^s  OW  often  o'er  departed  joys  we  moan, 

And,  musing,  sigh  in  accents  of  regret, 
"  Oh !    who  will  roll  us   back  the  heavy 

stone 
Which  at  the  tomb  of  buried  Hope  is  set  ?  " 

But  coming,  lo  !  we  smile, — for  angels  fair 
Have  been  before  us  at  the  gloomy  gates ; 

The  stone  is  rolled  away  ;  and,  radiant,  there, 
Brave  Love,  on  risen  Hope,  exultant,  waits  ! 


AN  ARABS  LOGIC. 

SKEPTIC,  through  the  wilderness  of  Zin, 
Was  guided  by  a  faithful  Bedouin  ; 

And  evermore,   whene'er  the    fierce    si 
moom 
Swept  up  the  desert  on  its  wing  of  gloom ; 

Or  when  the  waters  failed,  and  (for  their  lack), 
The  weary  camels  faltered  in  their  track, — 

The  skeptic  noticed  that,  with  outstretch'd  hands, 
The  Arab  flung  himself  upon  the  sands, 

And  pressed  his  turbaned  forehead  to  the  ground, 
And  hid  his  face  in  silence  most  profound. 

"  Now,  wherefore  kneelest  thou  ?  " — the  skeptic 

cried 
At  last,  in  wonder.     "  Wherefore,  O,  my  guide, 


94  AN  ARAB'S  LOGIC. 

"  Prostrate  thyself  in  this  lone  desert  place, 
And  in  thy  bournous  muffle  up  thy  face  ?  " 

"  I  kneel  to  worship  God,"  the  Arab  said, 

"  To  worship  God,  and  beg  His  helping  aid  !  " 

"  A  God  ?  a  God  ?  "—the  scoffer  laughed,  "  Poor 

fool! 
'Tis  plain  to  see  thou  never  went'st  to  school! 

"  Thou   seest  naught,  thou  hearest  naught,  dull 

clod! 
How  dost  thou  know  there  ever  was  a  God  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  the  Bedouin  upraised 
His  stately  head,  and  on  the  speaker  gazed : 

A  native  dignity,  a  grave  surprise, 
Rounding  the  arches  of  his  dusky  eyes. 

"  How  do  I  know  that  in  the  darkness,  went 
Last  night,  a  wand'ring  camel  past  my  tent, 

"  And  not  a  man  ?     How  know  I  ?  you  demand, 
Lo !  by  the  prints  he  left  upon  the  sand  ! 


AN  ARAB'S  LOGIC.  95 

"And  now,  behold  !  thou  unbelieving  one  !  "• 
And,  turning  westward  to  the  setting  sun, 

The  Arab's  finger  pointed  to  the  glow 
Of  rosy  radiance  upon  clouds  of  snow, — 

"  How  know  I  that  there  is  a  God  on  high  ? 
Lo  !  by  His  footprints  in  yon  glorious  sky  ! " 


- 


THE  STAR  OF  THE  KINGS. 

the  roof  of  an  Eastern  palace  afar, 
Three  Kings,   in   the    midnight,  sat  of 

yore  :— 
Beautiful,  bearded  Baltazar, 

And  gray-hair  'd  Gaspard,  and  Melchior. 

Gravely  they  sat,  and  they  spake  no  word, 
Their  hearts  were  full  of  an  awe  serene  ; 

And  under  their  royal  vestments  stirred 
The  thrill  of  a  Presence,  sublime,  unseen  ; 

For,  clear  in  the  zone  of  the  sapphire  skies, 
—A  new,  strange  jewel,  bright  to  see— 

They  watched,   thro'  the  mist  of  their  yearning 

eyes, 
The  Star  of  an  ancient  Prophecy  ! 

Low,  to  the  east,  it,  drooping,  shined 
With  a  roseate  glow,  as  of  coming  morn, 


THE    STAR    OF    THE    KINGS.  97 

Trailing  a  line  of  light  behind, 

Like  a  brilliant  lamp  by  an  angel  borne. 

Said  Gaspard  :  u  Brothers,  our  sign  hath  come  !  " 
Cried  Melchior :  "  'Tis  a  marvelous  thing  !  " 

Breathed  Baltazar  :  "  Farewell,  old  home  ! — 
We  follow  the  Star  of  Judah's  King  !  " 

Then,  down  thro'  the  latticed  halls  below, — 
Past  the  grand  saloons  of  their  crown'd  con 
sorts, 

Past  the  bright-eyed  children  who  come  and  go, 
— The  Kings  press  on  to  the  outer  courts. 

The  camels  are  loosed  from  the  royal  tents, 
Their  bells  ring  sweet  on  the  spicy  air  ; 

The  myrrh  and  the  musky  frankincense 

Are  mixed  with  the  gold  which  the  Arabs  bear. 

And,  forth  in  the  night,  those  men  of  lore 

Follow,  like  children,  the  CHRIST-CHILD'S  Star. 

God  speed  ye,  Gaspard  and  Melchior! 
God  speed  thee,  beautiful  Baltazar  ! 


ST.  JOSEPH'S  CHARGE. 

§PAKE  of  old  the  shining  Angel  to  St.  Jo 
seph,  Mary's  spouse, 
.      „     When  the  Magi  had  departed  from  his 
lowly  little  house  ; 

While  the  midnight  shadows  floated,  like  a  veil, 

o'er  Bethlehem, 
(Like  a  veil  of  dusk}*  tissue,  'sprent  with  many  a 

starry  gem !) 

In  his  dreams,  the  great  Archangel  spake  to  Jo 
seph  warningly : 

"  Take  the  Infant  and  His  Mother,  rise,  and  into 
Egypt  flee!" 

Lo !  behold,  the  saint  arising,  woke  the  Mother 
from  her  sleep, 

Roused  the  Babe  upon  her  bosom  from  His  slum 
bers  calm  and  deep, 


ST.  JOSEPH'S  CHARGE.  99 

And  beneath  the  friendly  cover  of  the  night,  with 
out  delay, 

Swift  across  the  arid  desert  unto  Egypt  sped 
away  ! 

In  that  hour  of  worldless  terror,  dread  of  Herod's 

cruel  sword, 
When  upon  the  weary  journey,  Mary  bore  her  Son 

and  Lord, 

Think   you,  that  her  face  was  clouded,  that  her 

brow  was  dark  with  care  ? 
That  the  anguish  of  the  exile  marked  her  virgin 

features  fair  ? 

Think  you,  that  her  soul  was  riven  with  a  wild, 

o'ermastering  fright  ? 
That  her   thoughts   were  tempest  driven,  as  the 

leaves  by  storm- wind's  might? 

No  !    ah,  no !    beneath  her  mantle,  to  her  bosom 

closely  press'd, 
Lay  the  Holy  Infant  Jesus,  sleeping  sweetly  on- 

her  breast. 


100  ST.  JOSEPH'S  CHARGE. 

Calm  her  brow,  serene  and  peaceful  as  a  drift  of 

moonlit  snow : 
Like  to  mountain   lakes,  all  tranquil,  shone  her 

placid  eyes  below ; 

Tokens  of  a  soul  untroubled,  of  a  heart  whose  vir 
gin  zone 

Shrined  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus,  as  a  treasure 
all  its  own  ! 

How  could  anguish  rend  her  spirit,  sorrow  cloud 
her  visage  blest, 

While  that  holy  Heart  was  beating,  burning,  glow 
ing,  on  her  breast  ? 

Joy  of  angels,  bliss  of  heaven,  light  and  bloom  of 

earth  below  ! 
Heart  of  Jesus !  only  Mary  all  Thy  joy  and  bliss 

could  know  ! 

And  the  while,  across  the  desert,  thro'  the  wood 
land  and  the  wild, 

To  the  darksome  land  of  Egypt  fled  the  Mother 
with  her  Child ; 


ST.  JOSEPH'S  CHARGE.  101 

All   the   strength   and   all  the   sweetness  of  the 

Sacred  Heart  divine 
Flowed  into  her  stainless  bosom,  like  a  draught  of 

golden  wine, 

Filling  all  her  soul  with  courage,  nerving  all  her 

maiden  heart, 
With   a   noble,  deathless   vigor,  none  save  Jesus 

can  impart! 

Clients  of  that  Heart  celestial — to  It  bound  by 

tend'rest  ties, 
Finding  in  Its  sparkling  fountain  all  the  goods  of 

Paradise, 

Let   us   follow  thro'  the  desert  sainted   Joseph, 

Mary  blest, 
Holding  fast  the  Heart  of  Jesus  like  a  buckler  on 

the  breast ! 

Sure    that    naught   of   sin  or  sorrow,  naught  of 

doubt  or  wild  despair, 
E'er  assail  the  happy  bosom  which  that   golden 

shield  doth  bear ; 


102  ST.  JOSEPH'S  CHARGE. 

Sure  that  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  when  that  Heart 

asserts  its  sway, 
All  the  idols  of  the  Gentiles,  tottering,  shall  fall 

away ! 


AN  EASTER  LILY. 

ATHED  in  the  glory  of  the  Easter  morn, 

I 

^VA     Steeped  in  its  gladness  and  its  fresh  delight, 

llB'J 

The  lily  lifts  its  head — a  symbol-white 

Of  Christ,  the  Risen  One  .  .  .  This  day  newborn 
He  is  issues  from  the  sepulchre  forlorn, 

His  raiment  whiter  than  the  lily's  snow, 
His  bright  hair  flung  (like  tassels  of  the  corn), 

From  radiant  brow  and  blessed  eyes  aglow !  " 

In  the  dark  earth,  the  lily's  seed  was  sown ; 

In  the  black  grave,  the  Crucified  was  laid ; 
From  dusky  mold,  the  fairest  flower  hath  grown, 

And  Christ  has  risen  from  the  tomb's  dark  shade  ! 

Of  Easter. lilies  let  His  crown  be  made  ! 
Let  Easter  lilies  in  His  path  be  strewn ! 


CHAP  LET  AT  COVENTRY. 

A.  D.  1040. 

p HE  gentle  child  of  a  noble  house, 
i  Lady  Godiva  was  fair  to  see ; 
The  dove-eyed  dame  of  a  cruel  spouse, 
She  dwelt  with  her  lord  at  Coventry. 

What  time  the  weight  of  the  nuptial  cross 

Pressed  on  her  spirit  heavil}', 
She  knelt  in  the  minster,  wreathed  with  moss, 

And  told  the  beads  of  her  Rosary. 

Jewels  were  they,  on  a  chain  of  gold, — 
Diamonds,  rubies,  and  pearls — all  three  ; 

Amethysts,  opals,  and  garnets  old, 
Emeralds,  green  as  the  sunlit  sea. 

They  slipped  through  her  ringers,  day  by  day ; 

And  oft,  in  the  nights,  when  her  tears  flowed  free, 
They  calmed  and  cheered  in  a  heav'nly  way, 

The  care-crowned  Lady  of  Coventry  ! 


104  A   CHAPLET    AT   COVENTRY. 

Till,  prone,  one  noon,  in  her  nun-like  cell, 
(White  and  cold  as  the  snow  on  the  lea), 

They  found  the  lady  they  loved  so  well, 
Clasping  her  priceless  Rosary! 

Sorrow  was  over,  and  tears,  and  pain ; 

The  suffring  spirit,  at  last,  set  free  ; 
They  loosed  from  her  fingers  the  shining  chain, 

And  bore  it  away  right  tenderly,  — 

Bore  it  unto  the  house  of  prayer, 

To  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Purity, 

Around  the  neck  of  her  image  fair, 
Entwined  the  jewels  reverently. 

And  there  they  glow  to  this  very  day,  — 

The  holy  Chaplet  of  Coventry; 
"  Praise  to  our  Queen  !  "  the  pilgrims  pray, 

And,  ''-  Lady  Godiva,  peace  to  thee !  " 


THE  SINGING  LEPER. 

<!|jlBl|EEP  is  the  heart  of  a  solitude, 
A  huntsman,  straying,  found 
A  dying  leper  in  a  wood, 
Stretched,  singing,  on  the  ground. 

Yea,  singing  on  a  bed  of  ferns, 

In  strains  so  sweet  and  strong, 
That  never  had  the  huntsman  heard 

So  ravishing  a  song : 

"  I  see  a  glory  in  the  air, 

And  in  the  midst  thereof, 
A  radiant  Face.     O  grave  and  fair ! 

How  full  of  pitying  love  !  " 

So  ran  the  words.     The  strong  man  stooped 

Above  the  leprous  thing  ; 
"  God  save  thee,  brother  of  the  worms, 

How  canst,  forsaken,  sing  ?  " 


106  THE   SINGING   LEPER. 

Out  of  the  pallid  lips,  the  sweet 

Unearthly  whisper  stole : 
"  There's  nothing  save  this  wall  of  flesh 

'Twixt  heaven  and  my  soul ; 

"  This  foul,  corrupted  wall  of  flesh — 

Behold  !  it  drops  away. 
Should  not  the  ransomed  captive  sing  ? 

/shall  be  free  to-day  !  " 

And  even  as  the  huntsman  gazed, 
Loosed  was  the  singer's  soul ; 

A  shower  of  lilies  hid  the  corse, — 
The  leper  was  made  whole. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  HOLLY. 


the  Shepherds  came  to  the  holy 

Cave 
(Their  lambs,  like  snowdrifts,  bring 


While,  under  the  stars,  the  Angels  brave 
Their  songs  of  praise  were  singing, 

They  found  with  awe  at  the  Stable-door, 
Where  the  Christmas-snows  lay  whitest,  — 

With  awe  and  fear,  at  the  Stable-door, 

Where  the  Christmas-stars  shone  brightest,  — 

A  shrub,  'round  which  sweet  fancy  weaves 

Her  spell  ;  at  Yuletide  showing 
Its  jagged,  emerald,  glossy  leaves 

With  blood-red  berries  glowing. 

Amazed,  the  Shepherds  softly  said  : 

"Who,  'mid  the  snows,  hath  set  it?"  — 

An  Angel  drifting  overhead 
Replied:  "Ah!  ne'er  forget  it  ! 


1U8  THE   BIRTH    OF    THE    HOLLY. 

"  The  symbol  'tis  of  days  to  be, 
Foreseen  by  prophet-dreamer, — 

The  future's  spinous  misery 
Awaiting  earth's  Redeemer. 

"Behold,  in  each  sharp-pointed  leaf, 

The  knife  of  Circumcision, — 
The  thorns,  the  nails,  which  Love  and  Grief 

Salute  with  tear-dimm'd  vision. 

44  And  in  each  scarlet  berry  view 
The  Blood-drops,  pure  and  holy, 

Of  Him  Who  here  is  born  for  you, 
A  Saviour  meek  and  lowly  !  " 

— The  Shepherds  heard.     Their  wisdom  poor 
This  world  may  scorn  as  folly, — 

But,  kneeling  at  the  Stable -door, 
They  hailed  the  Christmas  Holly . 


. 
I  and  my  gentle  friend,  Sceur  Amadce  ; 


A  MIDSUMMER  MEMORY. 
I. 

sat  among  the  graves  that  summer 

Lf 
—  Beyond  the  fence  with  honeysuckle  blooming, 

The  convent-garden  in  the  twilight  lay, 
Its  dewy  blossoms  filling  all  the  air 
With  incense,  like  the  memory  of  prayer. 

A  few  fair  stars  the  pleasant  skies  were  sprinkling, 
And  over  ev'ry  grassy  mound  and  tomb 

Unnumbered  fire-flies  were  twinkling,  twinkling 
Their  tiny  splendors  thro'  the  deep'ning  gloom  ; 

The  Sister  laid  her  slender  hand  on  mine 

And  said,  "How  wondrously  they  float  and  shine  ! 

"  How  pure,  yet  how  pathetic,  is  the  glory 
These  little  creatures  bear  beneath  their  wings  ! 
Methinks  the  precious  souls  from  Purgatory 
Are  mimicked  in  the  fiery,  floating  things. 


110  A   MIDSUMMER    MEMORY. 

Oh !  had  we  angel-eyes,  we  might  discern 
How  tranquilly  those  spirits  float  and  burn  ! 

"See!" — and   she    raised   the    chaplet   from  her 

girdle, 

"  One  little  bead  may  win  a  soul's  release 
Let  us  not  loiter  here,  serene  and  idle, 

While  suffering  spirits  call  to  us  for  peace  !  " 
— And  to  and  fro  we  paced,  and  pacing  said 
The  holy  chaplet  for  the  waiting  dead. 

II. 

Twilight  again  ;  and  here  again  I  ponder 
The  mystery  that  curtains  nameless  tombs: 

A  few  faint  stars  are  out,  and  over  yonder 
The  convent-garden  in  the  dimness  blooms 

Its  well-re  member'd  odors  o'er  me  cast, 

As  in  that  quiet  gloaming  of  the  past, 

I  sit  alone,  no  figure  veiled  and  saintly 
Leans  thro'  the  purple  silence  as  to  speak, 

The  clear  eyes  raised,  the  wild-rose  tinging  faintly 
The  white,  transparent  oval  of  her  cheek. 


A   MIDSUMMER    MEMORY.  Ill 

Between  that  face  and  mine,  there  sways  a  screen 
Of  churchyard  grass  and  periwinkle  green. 

Wet,  whisp'ring  grass, — low,  waving  periwinkle, — 
Beneath  the  dewy  roots  she  lieth,  fair 

In  sleeping  loveliness  ;  and  lo  !  the  twinkle 
Of  floating  fire  flies  is  in  the  air : 

So  pure,  yet  so  pathetic,  in  their  glory, 

Like  little  glowing  souls  from  Purgatory  ! 

O  dear  departed  spirit !  art  thou  near  me  ? 

Dost  come  in  gentle  flames,  lost  Amadee, 
To  hover  'round  thy  grieving  friend?     Ah  !  hear 
me, 

Thou  shalt  not  go  un comforted  away ; 
For  love  shall  build  a  bridge  of  Aves  blest 
Whereby  thy  soul  shall  enter  into  rest. 


SO  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FAR. 

I. 

SOOTHING  strain  of  solemn  harmony 
My  footsteps  stayed  upon  an  unknown 

street  ; 

Methought  I  caught  melodious  Latin  words, 
And  chanting  of  young  voices  fresh  and  sweet ; 
And  close  at  hand,  thro'  studded  doors  ajar, 
A  taper  glimmered  like  a  distant  star. 

II. 

A  golden  cross  on  high — a  golden  cross 

Sunk,  like  a  jewel,  in  the  polished  wall : 
To  pass  the  threshold  was  to  see  the  font 
Of  blessed  water  in  the  outer  hall ; 

And  pra}'erful  statues  gleaming  thro'  a  mist 
Of  incense,  by  the  fading  sunlight  kissed. 


SO   NEAR    AND   YET    SO   FAR.  113 

III. 

Gothic  the  little  chapel,  pure  and  quaint, 

Its  altar  decked  with  lilies  freshly  blown  ; 
The  frescoed  ceiling  fair  with  floating  saints — 
A  sculptured  Christ  upon  a  cross  of  stone. 
"  Here    will   I   rest !  " — and    on    the    plushy 

floor 
I  knelt  with  many  others  to  adore. 

IV. 

But  lo  !  a  vested  man  who  was  no  priest 

A  sacramental  cup  bore  to  and  fro  : 
And  unto  that  which  was  no  wedding  feast, 
With  folded  hands,  I  saw  the  people  go; 
And  round  the  altar-railing  knelt  and  fed 
On  that  which  was  not  the  Angelic  Bread. 

V. 

Oh  !  then  I  rose  up  trembling  and  in  tears, 
My  heart  with  pity  melting  in  my  breast ! 

So  fair  a  fraud,  a  counterfeit  so  rare 

Might  well  bewilder  and  betray  the  best. 


114  SO   NEAR    AND   YET    SO   FAR. 

Phantoms  of  statue,  sacrament,  and  shrine — 
Blank  shadows  of  a  substance  all  divine  ! 

VI. 

"  Domine  Jesu  !  "  sang  the  children's  choir, 
"  0  Bone  Pastor  !  "  sang  they  overhead  : 
The  tender  invocation,  rising  higher, 
Followed  me  thro'  the  portals  as  I  fled; 

Till  up  the  twilight  streets  I  seemed  to  hear 
The  answer  stealing  musical  and  clear  : 

VII. 

"  And  other  sheep  I  have — not  of  this  fold  : 
Them  also  must  I  bring,  that  there  may  be 
One    Fold    and    one    True    Shepherd" — Dearest 

Lord! 

Make  haste  and  draw  these  lost  ones  speedily ; 
Lest,  having  been  so  near  and  yet  so  far, 
Their  doom  reveal  how  stern  Thy  judgments 
are. 


THE    THANKSGIVING     OF    THE    CHAS 
TENED. 

I. 

,,_, fWOR  the  pain,  as  well  as  the  pleasure, 

mlkml 

For  the  woe,  as  well  as  the  weal; 


For  the  loss  of  the  dearest  treasure, 
And  the  wound  no  balm  can  heal ; 

For  the  bloom,  and  the  blight  that  kill'd  it, 
Scant  sun,  and  the  shadow  broad— 

Since  Thy  love  hath,  in  wisdom,  willed  it — 
We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  our  God ! 

II. 

For  the  tears  that  the  heart-strings  rusted, 
For  the  gold  half-dimm'd  with  dross  ; 

For  the  change  in  the  friend  long  trusted, 
For  the  scourge,  the  thorns,  and  the  cross; 


116    THE  THANKSGIVING  OF  THE  CHASTENED. 

Because  they  have  shown  us  clearer 

The  path  Thy  feet  once  trod ; 
Have  drawn  us  nearer  and  nearer 

To  Thee — we  thank  Thee,  God  ! 

III. 

For  the  sad  mistake  that  was  blameless 

For  the  sinless  dark  disgrace, 
For  the  sorrow,  hidden  and  nameless, 

That  won  us  Thy  close  embrace  ! 
For  the  dead,  as  well  as  the  living, 

For  the  stricken  under  the  rod — 
With  a  joy,  not  of  earth's  thanksgiving, 

We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  our  God! 


CHRISTMAS  IDYL. 

Christmas  Eve,  and  my  heart  must  go 
Over  to  Bethlehem,  thro'  the  snow, 


Its  flight  with  the  angels  winging  ; 
Along  the  slopes  where  the  shepherds  lie, 
The  starlight  falls  from  the  dark,  blue  sky, 
And  I  hear  the  sheep-bells  ringing. 

The  fleecy  clouds  are  folded  like  sheep, 
On  their  azure  meadows,  fast  asleep, 

In  a  slumber  pure  and  tender  ; 
While  the  shepherdess  Moon,  with  a  pensive  look, 
Touches  their  wool  with  her  silver  crook, 
And  tips  their  horns  with  splendor. 

Low  on  the  wold,  the  drifts  lie  deep, 
Like  other  beautiful,  snow-white  sheep, 
Too  chill  for  "baa  "-ing  or  bleating; 
And  the  trees,  like  shepherds  with  hoary  heads, 
Bend  over  the  lambkins,  in  their  beds, 
A  lullaby  soft  repeating. 


118  CHEISTMAS    IDYL. 

O  sheep  of  the  clouds  I     O  sheep  of  the  wold  ! 
O  living,  bleating  sheep  of  the  fold  ! 

Come  over  the  hills  with  a  stranger  ! 
Come,  shepherds,  and  guide  these  affections  of 

mine, 

With  the  rest  of  your  flock,  to  the  Lamb  Divine  ! 
— His  glittering  tears  on  their  fleece  may  shine, 
But  He'll  fold  my  sheep  in  His  manger! 


THE  SPARROWS  SERMON. 

HEAVY  cross  was  mine,  one  cruel  day, 

7  \  ''I 

\^,\L     A  disappointment  sore,  a  giving  way 

Of  all  the  golden  props  whereon,  secure, 
My  heart  had  leaned,  and  thought  its  trust  most 
sure. 

Into  a  convent-garden  strayed  my  feet, — 
A  rustic  chair  in  that  serene  retreat 
Yielding  me  rest ;  the  sunshine  lay  around, 
A  hissing  fountain  broke  the  hush  profound, 
And,  'neath  the  blossoms  of  the  woodbine  sweet, 
I  sat  me  down  amid  the  flow'rs  and  birds, 
And    mused   and    mused,  in   grief  too  deep  for 
words. 

Before  me,  on  a  mound  of  em'rald  moss, 
A  Calvary  was  raised ;  (the  precious  tryst 
Of  many  a  virgin  heart),  for,  from  the  cross, 
A  pure,  colossal  image  of  the  Christ 


120  THE  SPARROW'S  SERMON. 

Looked  sadly  down  :  the  wounded  Hands  spread 

wide, 
And  a  great  fissure  in  the  blessed  Side. 

Across  the  pierced  Feet,  the  sunbeams  fair 
Fell,  like  the  threads  of  Magdalen's  bright  hair; 
And,  like  her  tears,  the  fountain's  flashing  spray 
Upon  those  sacred  members,  sparkling,  lay. 
The  while,  with  dreaming  eyes,  I  noted  how 
The  rosy  radiance  bathed  the  royal  Brow, — 
Sharp  thro'  the  silence,  near  my  nook,  I  heard 
The  piercing  outcries  of  a  suffring  bird, 
And  (just  beyond  the  maple's  silver  bough) 
Behold!  a  hand  in  wantonness  or  wrath, 
From  out  the  crevice  of  a  neighboring  wall, 
Had  hurl'd  a  sparrow's  nest, — the  cruel  fall 
Crushing  the  speckled  eggs  upon  the  path. 

Around  about  her  broken  treasures  flew 

The  little  mother, — ah  !  too  well  I  knew 

The  bitter  anguish  of  her  feathered  breast. 

"  Unhappy  me  !  "  I  moaned,  with  heart  oppress'd, 

"I,  also,  mourn",  like  thee,  a  ruined  nest; — 

What  shall  we  do,  poor  bird,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 


THE  SPARROW'S  SERMON.  121 

But,  even  as  I  spake,  (to  ray  surprise), 
The  little  creature  ceased  its  piteous  cries ; 
With  russet  head  upturn'd,  bright  eye  askance, 
Surveyed  the  ruin  of  its  life's  romance  : 
Stretch' tl  out  its  glossy  beak,  and  bravely  tried 
To  touch  the  hopeless  wreck  on  ev'ry  side, — 
Then,    stroked    its     ruffled    plumes,    and    taking 

heart, 
Began  to  tear  the  shattered  nest  apart. 

Fragments   of  straw,  dried  leaves,  and  fragrant 

grass, 

Feathers  and  wool,  a  dusky,  downy  mass, 
Remorseless   rent,  lay  scattered  on  the  ground:— 
When  lo  !  the  sparrow  with  the  soft  debris, 
Spreading  its  pinions  (smooth  as  polish'd  glass), 
Flew  to  the  green,  exalted  Calvary, 
Flew  to  the  Christ,  with  rosy  splendors  crown 'd, 
And,  in  His  open  Side,  a  refuge  found ! 

There,  with  a  twitt'ring  song  of  tend'rest  rest. 
The  tiny  bird  began  to  build  her  nest ; 


122  THE  SPARROW'S  SERMON. 

While,  on  my  knees,  with  streaming  tears,  I  cried : 
"Sweet  sparrow!  sheltered  in  a  Saviour's  breast, 
Thanks  for  thy  gentle  lesson ! 

Wounded  pride 

May  brood  above  the  failures  of  its  past, 
And  make  its  sullen  moan;  but  Hope  divine 
Springs  from  the  wreck  of  joys,  too  frail  to  last, 
To  seek  on  Calvary  its  changeless  shrine; 
And  from  the  ruins  of  Time's  shattered  nest, 
Builds  in  the  Heart  of  Christ  a  refuge  blest !  " 


SAN  BONIFAZIO. 
AN  UNKNOWN  MARTYR. 

(Under  the  Altar  of  a  Philadelphia  Church.) 

thro'   the  old    church-shadows,  the 
lamp  of  the  altar  glows, 
The  echo  of  feet  departing  is  hush'd  in  a 
deep  repose. 

And  the  smell  of  the  fragrant  incense  still  lingers, 

full  of  heaven, 
To  tell  that  the  Benediction  was  here  at  twilight 

given. 

Close  to  the  altar-railing,  steep'd  in  the  odor  sweet, 
I  feast  mine  eyes  on  the  martyr  who  lies  at  his 
Master's  feet. 

The  Roman  soldier-martyr,  San  Bonifazio, 

Who  gave  his  life  for  Jesus  a  thousand  years  ago. 


124  SAN   BOX1FAZIO. 

A  fair  recumbent  figure,  a  lovely  blooming  face, 
Stretch'd  on  a  couch  of  satin,  in  grave   repose 
ful  grace, 

The  rich  and   shining  raiment  is  brilliant  to  be 

seen 
Whene'er  the  lamp's  soft  lustre  silvers  the  crystal 

screen. 

Methinks  the  sparkling  armor,  the  sleeping  loveli 
ness 
Of  that  fair  silent  figure,  withal,  allure  me  less 

Than  the  green  of  the  sacred  palm-branch  where 

martyr-fingers  meet, 
And  the  gleam  of  the  glass  ampulla  beside  the 

sandal'd  feet. 

For  unto  the  victor  only  belongs  the  victor's 
palm, 

And,  after  the  fight,  the  soldier  may  rest  in  slum 
ber  calm  ; 


SAN    BONIFAZIO.  125 

And  dark  and  red  on  the  vial,  for  centuries  con 
gealed, 

I  see  the  blood  of  the  martyr  most  wondrously 
revealed. 

I  ask  myself  in  the  twilight,  u  O  martyr  head  !  at 

rest, 
What  were   the  thoughts  and  fancies  which  once 

thy  brain  possess'd  ? 

"  What    were    the  loves  and  likirgs,  O  heart  of 

martyr  mine ! 
That  thrill'd  thy  bounding  pulses  when  life  and 

love  were  thine  ? 

"  And  wert  thou  young  or  aged  ?  Wert  prosper 
ous  or  poor  ? 

A  neophyte  in  manhood  ?  or  in  thy  childhood 
pure  ? 

"And  had'st  thou  many  kindred,  a  mother  and  a 
home 

When  thy  blest  bones  were  gathered  into  the  Cat 
acomb?  " 


126  SAX    BONIFAZIO. 

No  answer  to  my  queries :  but,  from  the  wounded 

throat, 
A  thin,  aerial  whisper  above  me  seems  to  float : 

"  The  cycles  melt,  like  vapor,  before  the  Eternal 

Truth,— 
What    matter    want    or   riches?      What    matter 

age  or  youth  ? 

"  What  matter  home  or  kindred  to  him  whom  God 

suffic'd? 
One  glory  hath  the  Christian, — to  live  and  die  for 

Christ !  " 


THE  CHINESE  LILY— A  SYMBOL. 

I. 

(A  Month  ago.} 

^N  ivory  table,  carved  and  chaste, 

Whereon  a  jewel'd  hand  hath  plac'd 
t=jj^jk     A  brazen  bowl,  with  pebbles  filled, 
Brimming  with  water  thrice  distill'd, 
Where  floats  a  bulb,  unsightly,  brown, 
Brought  from  a  far-off  Chinese  towrn. 

The  wintry  twilight  clouds  the  room, 
And,  on  her  couch,  amid  the  gloom, 
A  small,  distorted  figure  lies 
Beside  the  fire.     With  dreaming  eyes, 
Watching  the  bulb,  she  murmurs  low  : 
"Dear  Master,  bid  Thy  lily  blow  !  " 


12S  THE   CHINESE    LILY  —  A   SYMBOL. 

II. 


The  room  is  rosed  with  vernal  light. 
Like  lances  stack'd  by  fairy  knight, 
The  serried  blades  of  living  green 
Rise  from  the  blub  in  brilliance  keen, 
Each  emerald  glory  lifting  np 
A  lily  shrining  a  golden  cup  I 

The  couch  stands  vacant  near  the  door, 
The  little  dwarf  dreams  there  no  more  ! 
Out  of  suff'  ring's  stony  bed, 
Out  of  the  tears  in  patience  shed, 
Her  bulb  of  warped  life  hath  given 
The  gold  of  its  lily-bloom  to  Heaven  ! 


DOING  TEE  WILL  OF  GOD, 

are   ye   doing,   ye    bright-wing'd 

birds, 

Out  in  the  world  of  sun-touch'd  trees, 
Winging,  and  singing  your  songs  without  words, 

Trilling  your  full-throated  melodies? 
Sweet  is  the  answering  roundelay: 
"  We  are  doing  the  Will  of  God! "  sing  they. 

And  what  are  ye  doing,  sweet  flowers  a-bloom, 
In  garden  and  mead,  in  wood  and  vale  ? 

Brilliant  with  beauty,  rich  with  perfume, 
What  are  ye  doing  on  hill  and  dale  ? 

The  blossoms  tremble  their  petals  gay  : 

"  We  are  doing  the  Will  of  God  !  "  breathe  they. 

And  ye,  O  rivers,  that  run  to  the  sea, 
Flashing  your  waters  in  shade  or  sun, 

Streamlet  and  brooklet  from  over  the  lea, 
What  are  ye  doing  the  while  ye  run  ? 


130  DOING   THE    WILL    OF   GOD. 

Bright  and  swift,  as  they  win  their  way  : 
"  We  are  doing  the  Will  of  God  !  "  cry  they. 

Brave  winds,  that  wander  far  and  near, 

Like  errant  knights  careering  by, 
Blowing  your  trumpets,  high  and  clear, 

Or  crooning  soft  as  a  baby's  sigh  ; 
What  are  ye  doing  by  night  and  day? 
"Doing  the  Will  of  God !  "  laugh  they. 

Once  more — O  stars  in  the  azure  sky, 

0  moon,  arrayed  in  your  silver  sheen  ! 
Majestic  sun,  enthroned  on  high, 

Flooding  with  light  all  things  terrene, — 
What  are  ye  doing  ?     Tell  me,  pray, — 
"Doing  the  Will  of  God  !  "  chant  they. 

Then,  to  my  soul  in  its  selfish  dreams, 

1  thunder :  "  List  to  the  birds  and  flowers  ! 
Listen,  and  learn  from  the  winds  and  streams, 

From  the  sun, and  the  moon, and  the  starry  powers, 
To  follow  them  all  in  their  high  endeavor, 
And  do  the  Will  of  thy  God  forever." 


SAINT  ANTONY'S  CLIENT. 

many  times,  O  sweet  Saint  Antony! 
When  precious  little  things  were  lost,  mis 
laid, 

How  many  trusting  times,  I've  turned  to  thee, 
And  tenderly  besought  thy  potent  aid. 

And  never  yet  in  vain — a  glove — a  ring — 

A  book — a  rdiquaire — a  rosary — 
Each  trifling  trinket — yea,  each  treasur'd  thing, 

Thy  gracious  care  hath  given  back  to  me. 

Thanks,  gentle  saint.     Ah  !  yet,  once  more,  extend 
Thy  loving  aid ;  for  I  have  lost  to-day 

That  treasure  of  all  treasured  things — a  friend, 
Whom  some  perverse  misdoubt  hath  led  astray. 

Dearer  than  book,  or  ring,  or  perfum'd  glove ! 

Rarer  than  rosary  or  reliquaire — 
Of  all  earth's  missing  things,  shall  missing  love 

Alone,  alas  !  be  lost  beyond  repair  ? 


132  SAINT  ANTONY'S  CLIENT. 

Must  malice  wound,  or  misconstruction  sour 
The  sweetest  of  all  spirits  to  the  end? 

Ah  !  no,  Saint  Antony  !  exert  thy  power, 

And  give,  oh  !  give  me  back  my  dear  lost  friend! 


THE  FIERY  TONGUES. 

SAGE  hath  said  :     In  the  first  Pentecost 
When    th'    Apostles    and    Our    Mother 

sweet 

Received  from  Heav'n  the  promised  Paraclete — 
Gravely  they  noted  that  the  Holy  Ghost 
Came  not  in  shape  of  fiery  quill  or  pen, 
Whereby  as  scribes  unto  the  sons  of  men, 
The  sons  of  God  might  write  His  Gospel.  .  .  Lost 
In  wondering  awe,  they  see,  instead,  descend 
The  Spirit  of  all  Light  (their  hearts'  desire), 
Disguised  in  flaming  symbols — Tongues  of  Fire, 
Which,  to  each  head  a  golden  glory  lend. 
Thus  by  the  Tongue  their  mission  was  assign'd ; 
Go  forth  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  mankind, 
And  teach  (not  write)  its  message  to  the  end! 


WHEN,   WHERE,  AND  HOW? 

-EAR  Lord  !  in  some  dim  future  year, 

In  some  dim  future  month  and  day, 

Hi  Wil 

Abides  the  hour,  the  solemn  hour, 

When  Thou  shalt  call  my  soul  away, 
That  year,  that  month,  that  day  of  days, 

Come  soon?  come  late? — I  know  not  when. 
O  Thou,  who  rulest  all  my  ways  ! 

Master  of  life,  whom  Death  obeys, 
Be  with  me  then,  be  with  me  then ! 

Somewhere  upon  this  globe  of  ours 

Is  hid  the  spot  where  I  must  die, 
Where  'mid  the  snows,  or  'mid  the  flowers, 

My  shrouded  form  shall  coffin'd  lie. 
If  north  or  south  ?     If  east  or  west? 

At  home  ?  abroad  ? — I  know  not  where. 
O  tender  Father,  Lord  of  grace  ! 

Whose  presence  fills  the  realms  of  space, 
Be  with  me  there,  be  with  me  there ! 


134  WHEN,    WHERE,    AND    HOW? 

By  fire?  by  flood?  by  famine  sore? 

By  sudden  stroke?  by  slow  decay? — 
When  Death's  dark  angel  opes  my  door, 

How  shall  it  call  my  soul  away? 
God  only  knows ;  HE  bends  the  bow, 

And  He  alone  can  fix  the  dart. 
Yet  care  I  not  when,  where,  or  how 

The  end  may  come,  sweet  Lord  !  if  Thou 
Wilt  then  but  shield  ine  in  Thy  Heart ! 


THE  LIFTED  HAT. 

dawn,  along  a  lonely  street, 
mm 

Thro'  winds  and  whirling  snow, 
I* 

Unto  his  toil,  with  hurrying  feet, 

I  watched  a  poor  man  go. 

His  thread-bare  garments,  'gainst  the  cold, 

Were  sad  defence,  I  fear : 
But,  bravely  pressing  on— behold  ! 

Our  Lady's  Church  stood  near. 

And,  as  he  pass'd  where  Jesus  sat 

Upon  His  altar  throne, 
The  poor  man  raised  his  rusty  hat, 

And  hailed  the  Hidden  One. 

What  secret  prayer  was  on  his  tongue, 

What  rev'rence  in  his  heart, 
(While  his  rapt  soul  its  incense  flung 

To  Him  who  dwells  apart,) 


136  THE   LIFTED   HAT. 

No  man  can  say, — God  only  knows 
The  prayers  conceived  or  said  ; — 

Few,  save  the  angels,  saw  him  pause 
With  meek,  uncover'd  head. 

Yet,  did  his  act  more  faith  declare 
Than  schoolmen's  tomes  profound  ; — 

A  speaking  Faith  and  Love  were  there, 
Tho'  lips  gave  forth  no  sound  ; 

And  heaven's  court  with  splendor  blazed, 

And  angels  'gan  to  sing,— 
When,  his  torn  hat,  the  poor  man  raised, 

To  hail  his  hidden  King ! 
#  #  #  •*  *  * 

O  tender  Heart  of  Christ,  our  Lord  ! 

Perchance,  that  gesture  mute 
More  glory  on  Thine  altar  poured 

Than  might  a  King's  salute  ! 

Perchance,  the  guileless  piety 

Of  Thine  unlettered  poor 
Is  sweeter,  dearer,  far  to  Thee 

Than  angel's  worship  pure  ! 


FORGIVING  AND  FORGETTING. 

FORGIVE,  but  I  never  forget  I  "  she  said, 
Witli  a  frown  on  her  dark,  forbidding 


When  one  she  had  wounded  humbly  pled 
For  peace  and  pardon  now. 

"'My  foes,  my  footstool!'  cried  David  the  king; 

'  A  Christian  '  (you  say)  '  forgives  the  debt  !  ' 
All  !  yes,  but  forgetting's  another  thing  — 

/never  can  forget  !  " 

And  then,  ignoring  the  proffer'd  hand, 
Blind  to  the  love  in  the  wistful  eyes, 

She  went  her  way  to  the  woful  land 
That  knows  no  Paradise  ; 

Went  her  way  to  the  black  eclipse 
Shadowing  all  that  from  Love  depart, 

The  rose  of  forgiveness  on  her  lips, 
The  thorns  of  hate  in  her  heart. 


138  FORGIVING    AND   FORGETTING. 

For,  after  her  trod  a  shadowy  Shape — 

Thorn-crown'd — cross-laden — wounded  sore — 

The  crimson  Blood,  like  the  juice  of  the  grape, 
Dropping  behind,  before  ! 

And  ever  and  aye  in  her  ears  shall  live 
His  piercing  cry  ;  "  What  of  tliy  debt? 

How  shalt  thou  fare  if  /forgive, 
Yet  never,  never  forget  ?  " 


THE  MOTHERLESS  HOME, 


that  sad  day  when  the  Angel  of 

Death 
fiix/D 

Swept  over  our  hearth  on  his  pinions  of 

sorrow, 
And  the  mother  we  prized  as  the  breath  of  our 

breath, 
Lay  lifeless  and  cold  on  the  morrow; 

Before  that  dark  day, — did  I  wander  afar 

At  Duty's  behest,  or  the  promptings  of  Pleas 
ure? 

My  heart,  like  the  needle  that  turns  to  the  star, 
Turned  ever  to  Home,  as  its  treasure. 

And  I  wearied  of  joys,  I  grew  sick  of  delights, 
'Mid  scenes  new  and  charming,  I  pined  for  an 
other, — 

Mine  own  quiet  ingle,  where  Home's  cheery  lights 
Were  the  face  and  the  smile  of  my  mother! 


140  THE   MOTHERLESS    HOME. 

But  since,  from  our  midst,  from  the  arms  of  our 

love, 

The  shade  of  our  dearest  pass'd  outward  for 
ever, — 
Let   me  flee  where  I  will  (like  the  wind-beaten 

dove), 
My  heart's  never  home-sick, no,  never ! 

Indifferent,  tho'  weary, — where'er  I  may  roam 
(With  sighs,  that  the  bravest  of  wills  cannot 

smother), 
I  have  learn'd,  in  Love's  language,  that  Mother  is 

ffome, 
And  Home  but  a  weak  word  for  Mother  ! 


O  Friend !  as  you  sit  at  your  desolate  hearth, 
And  gaze  thro'  your  tears  at  the  one  vacant 

corner, 
Whence  the  shadow  of  Death  seems  to  spread  o'er 

the  earth 
And  veil  every  joy,  like  a  mourner  ; 


THE   MOTHERLESS    HOME.  141 

Iii   the  long,  lonesome  days  that  are  certain  to 

come, 
Let  this  comforting  balm  to  your  sore  heart  be 

given  : 
That,  if  Home   is   but    Mother,  and    Mother   is 

Home, 
Both  Mother  and  Home  are  in  heaven  1 


A  TAPER  AT  LOURDES. 

OWN  in  the  Grotto  of  Lourdes, 

Over  the  wide  blue  sea, 
A  taper  fine,  at  our  Lady's  shrine, 
Was  lighted  and  burned  for  me ; 

Lighted  and  burned  for  me, 

By  a  loved  and  loving  friend, 
Whose  constant  soul  no  chances  control, 

No  changes  or  doubts  attend. 

On  the  purest  feast  of  our  Queen, 
A-blaze  at  her  rose-deck'd  feet. — 

That  taper  of  grace  to  her  beautiful  face 
Lifted  its  lustre  sweet. 

Wasting  and  waning  there, 

Running  in  drops  to  the  ground, — 

The  incense  thick  from  its  sparkling  wick, 
Scenting  the  air  around,— 


A  TAPER   AT   LOURDES.  143 

Like  a  star  of  the  night  it  shone, 
Like  a  flower  of  flame  it  bloomed, 

As  tho'  'twere  a  joy  without  alloy 
To  be  at  Her  feet  consumed. 

0  beautiful,  trembling  light! 
O  candle  aglow  in  the  Grot ! 

In  the  midst  of  the  moil  of  my  daily  toil, 
My  spirit  forgets  thee  not. 

And  ever  across  the  gloom 

Of  the  clouds  that  come  and  go, 

1  seem  to  behold  thy  flicker  of  gold, 
And  thy  wax  like  sunlit  snow. 

I  bless  the  bees  in  their  hive. 

That  wrought  so  gracious  a  comb, 

And  the  myriad  flowers  of  Pyrenese  bowers 
Whose  honey  enticed  them  to  roam. 

I  bless  the  friend  of  my  soul 

Whose  love  remembered  me  there, 

Where  the  Virgin  white,  with  her  rosary  bright, 
Shineth,  a  Vision  of  prayer ! 


144  A   TAPER    AT   LOURDES. 

And,  taking  my  heart  in  my  hands, 

I  offer  it  up  to  the  Queen ; 
And  cry  :  "  Blest  Maid,  in  glory  arrayed, 

Behold,  my  taper  terrene  ! 

"  Ah !  set  it  aglow  with  thy  love, 

Let  purity  kindle  its  blaze, 
Till  here  on  thy  shrine,  heart  and  taper  of  mine 

Be  burned  and  consumed  in  thy  praise  !  " 


THOSE  OUTSTRETCHED  ARMS. 

TOUCHING  old  tradition  sweetly  saith 
That  when   the   dead   Christ  'neath   the 

Cross  reposed, 
His  open  Eyes,  all  glazed  and  dim  with  death, 
By  Mary's  tender  hand,  were  meekly  closed. 

But  when  the  bruised  and  swollen  Arms  she  strove 
To  gently  fold  upon  His  bleeding  breast — 

O  might  and  mystery  of  deathless  Love  ! 

She  could  not  close  or  bend  those  Members  blest ! 

Covered  with  wounds,  He  lay  upon  her  knee, 
His  blesseM  mangled  Hands  spread  wide  apart, 

As  though  to  say  :  "  Poor  sinners!  come  to  Me, 
And,  even  yet,  I'll  clasp  you  to  My  Heart !  " 

As  though  to  say :  "  O  suff  ring  saints,  who  yearn 

To  hide  your  sorrows  in  a  faithful  breast, 
Come,  cast  yourselves  into  these  Arms,  and  learn 
That  in  My  Bosom  ye  may  safely  rest !  " 


146  THOSE   OUTSTRETCHED    ARMS. 

Dear  Arms,  where  thus,  both  saint  and  sinner  find 
Repose  from  pain,  release  from  sin  and  woe ; — 

(Within  whose  sanctuary  close-enshrined 

The    coldest   heart  with   rapturous   love  must 
glow  ;) 

Dear  outstretched  Arms !  so  full  of  mute  appeal, 
Tho'  oft  I've  spurned  your  fond    embrace   of 
yore, 

Ah !  let  me  now  unto  your  shelter  steal, 

And  nestle  there,  sweet  Love  !  forever  more  ! 


THE  HERMITS  VISION. 

saw  the  land  before  him,  dark'ning,  lie, 
Spread  with  unnumbered  snares  and  pit 
falls  deep. — 
Gazing  with  fixed  and  slow-distending  eye, 

(As  one  who    wakes   from    nightmare   in    his 

sleep,) 

"  O,  who,"  he  cried,  "shall  be  of  safety  sure? 
Who,  'mid  these  many  toils,  shall  pass  secure  ?  " 

Around,  about,  and  midways,  unaware, 

And  yet  aware,  (their  passions  for  their  guide), — 

Like  game  entrapp'd,  or  birds  in  fowler's  snare, 
The   souls  of  men  were  caught.     The  hermit 
sighed : 

"  O,  Christ,  my  Saviour,  who  shall  'scape  the  lure? 

Who,  'mid  these  wiles,  shall  pass  to  Thee,  secure?" 


148  THE  HERMIT'S  visiox. 

Clear  from  the  heavens  (in  whose  azure  arc, 
The  stars,  like  jewels,  glowed),  the  answer  fell; 

O'er  ambush'd  land,  and  pitfalls  deep  and  dark, 
The  message  rang,  like  some  blest  golden  bell : 

"  Lowly  of  heart,  and  of  a  spirit  poor, 

Humility  alone  can  pass  secure!'" 


CHE1SFS  DOVES. 

(On  seeing  a  Community  of  Nuns  enter  their  Chapel  for  prayer.) 

I. 

>VER  the  sea,  in  Venice  fair, 

At  the  old  Cathedral  of  St  Mark, 
When  the  silvery  chimes  on  the  noon 
tide  air, 

Float  o'er  the  waters  cool  and  dark — 
From  airy  turret,  from  spire  and  dome, 

(A  murmuring  throng  at  the  portal  grand), 
The  doves  of  St.  Mark  in  legions  come 
To  be  fed,  each  day,  by  a  loving  hand. 

II. 

Why  do  I  dream  of  the  doves  this  hour? 

A  fluttering  sound,  as  of  wings,  I  hear; 
The  bell  hath  chimed  in  the  convent  tower, 

The  nuns  at  the  chapel  door  appear. 


150  CHRIST'S  DOVES. 

Slender  figures  in  raiment  dark, 

(Flowing  wimple  and  snowy  band)  : 

The  doves  of  Christ,  like  the  doves  of  St.  Mark, 
Have  come  to  feed  from  a  loving  Hand ! 

III. 

Murmuring  low  the  whispered  words 

Of  a  tender  prayer,  the  virgins  kneel ; 
Lo  !  like  the  meek  Venetian  birds, 

They  gather  here  for  their  mystic  meal ; 
And  the  Master  keepeth  the  noonday  tryst, 

And  manna  sweet  from  His  golden  ark 
Abundant  giveth, — O  doves  of  Christ ! 

Ye  are  better  fed  than  the  doves  of  St.  Mark! 


THE  QUEEN  AND  THE  KINGS. 
I. 

'IXKLING  bells  and  camels  brave, 

Jf5     Spices,  gold,  and  precious  stones, 
7 
.}  Glittering  train  of  dusky  slaves, 

Silken-clad,  with  jewel'd  zones ; 

From  Arabia  Felix  rare, 

(Honey-breath'd  and  bright  of  sun), 
Comes  the  Queen  of  Saba  fair 

To  the  ancient  Solomon. 

II. 

Camels  brave  and  tinkling  bells, 
Myrrh,  and  frankincense,  and  gold ; 

Lo !  the  sparkling  cortege  swells 
With  the  dark-skin n'd  slaves  of  old ! 

Epha,  Madian,  Saba  sweet, 

Send  their  Kings.     O  Queen,  long  gone  I 
Greet  they  at  the  CHRIST-CHILD'S  feet, 

Greater  King  than  Solomon  ! 


THE  GRA  VES  OF  CHILDREN. 
I. 

;HEN  in  the  west  hangs  low 

The  autumn  sun, 
And  gentle  breezes  blow 
Among  the  trees,  till  slow 

Fall,  one  by  one, 

The  withered  leaves  and  brown, — 
It  is  a  quiet  fancy  then  to  wander 
Into  the  little  village  churchyard  yonder, 
And  there  to  sit  me  down. 

II. 

It  is  a  pleasant  place 

Of  peace  and  prayer ; 
And  with  a  rev'rent  pace 
And  thoughtful  grace, 
Grief  covers  up  her  face 

In  silence  there; 


THE   GRAVES   OB"   CHILDKEN.  153 

Fierce  wail  and  bitter  moan, 
Above  these  couches,  mossy  in  their  chillness, 
Waver  and  die, — and  in  the  placid  stillness, 

God's  patience  walks  alone. 

III. 

Here  do  the  aged  lie, 

Like  garnered  grain, 
Beneath  the  quiet  sky, 
With  darkly-shadowed  eye 
And  dreamless  brain, 
Pale  hands  and  pulseless  breast. 
After  the  years  of  life,  (a  weary  number,) 
God  to  their  tired  frames  hath  given  slumber, 
And  everlasting  rest. 

IV. 

Not  there  I  care  to  go. 

Nor  pause  to  weep ; 
But  where  I  know 
There  falls  the  purest  snow, 


154  THE   GRAVES    OF   CHILDREN. 

And  wild  vines  creep, 
O'er  little  ones  asleep 
In  peace  below. 

"Pis  there  the  quiet  woos 

To  steal  apart  from  all  the  world's  rude  bustle, 

And  in  this  solitude,  where  dead  leaves  rustle, 

To  linger  long  and  muse. 


V. 


Muse  on  the  blessed  lot 
Which  gathered  here 
On  flower -sprinkl'd  bier, 
(Earth's  sorrow  knowing  not), 
Into  this  sacred  spot, 

And  silence  drear, 
These  little  tender  lambs — 

With  tiny   frames    unused  to  life's  fierce  wrest 
ling 

And  folded  hands  with  fairy  blossoms  nestling 
Within  the  snowy  palms. 


THE   GRAVES   OF   CHILDREN.  155 

VI. 

Soft  is  their  endless  rest ; 

Above  them  now 
There  come  no  visions  blest 
Of  floating  hair  caressed, 

Or  aching  brow 
On  Mother's  bosom  press'd. 
There  lie  neglected  toys, 
By  many  a  hearth — but  tiny  form  and  finger 
In  twilight  memories  of  loved  ones  linger, 
Like  buried  household  joys! 

VII. 

O  angel  hands  !  which  hold 

Death's  bitter  draught, — 
We  grieve  not  when  by  old 
And  weary  lips  a -cold, 

Your  cup  is  quaffed  ; 
But  when  its  droplets  shine 
On  blushing  lips  of  those  in  childhood  taken, 
O  God !  how  hope  and  loving  faith  are  shaken 
By  that  dread  blow  of  Thine  ! 


156  THE   GRAVES   OF   CHILDREN, 

VIII. 

To  find  amid  the  dead 
A  mossy  nest, 
Wherein  must  rest 
The  little  pet  whose  head 
Was  in  the  twilight  laid  ; 

-Upon  thy  breast; 
Whose  dreamy  eyes  were  raised 
And  searching  thine,  while  soft  reply  was  given 
Unto  the  earnest  question  of  that  Heaven, 
Where  now  it  stands  amazed! 

IX. 

'Tis  hard, — and  yet  we  know 

We  should  not  mourn 
When  children  pure  as  snow, 
(The  loved  of  long  ago), 
Are  to  the  churchyard  slow 

And  sadly  borne  ; 
(Life's  fairest  buds  but  blow 

To  deck  the  urn  ;) 


THE    GRAVES    OF    CHILDREN.  157 

And  dying  early  thus, 

They  have  been  spared  the  bitter,  biting  sorrow 
Which  sad  to-day,  or  sadder  still  to-morrow 
Shall  ever  bring  to  us. 

X. 
Here  in  their  slumber  they 

May  rest  as  sweet 
As  when  from  eager  play, 
They,  tired,  turned  away, 

And  at  their  mother's  feet 
Reposeful  lay  ; 

With  pretty  shining  hair 
Thrown    back    to    wave    upon   the    fair  young 

shoulder, 

And    thought-touch 'd  brow,   which,  ne'er   might 
know  the  older 

And  deeper  lines  of  care. 

XL 

Peace  to  their  rest  beneath 

The  rustling  trees  ! 
As  falls  the  leaf, 
Or  blossom  from  the  wreath, 


158  THE   GRAVES    OF   CHILDREN. 

As  sword  flashed  from  its  sheath, 

The  lot  of  these 
Hath  brilliant  been,  but  brief; 
And  though  we  weep, — 

Room,  angels,  room  within  yon  happy  Heaven, 
And  rare  rejoicing  that  our  God  hath  given 
His  little  children  sleep  ! 


"AS  THE  HEN  GATHERETH  HER 
CHICKENS}' 

N  her  wicker  nest  by  the  old  barn-door, 

The  hen  in  the  sunlight  broods, 

It 

Shielding  a  dozen  chickens  or  more, 

In  fondest  of  mother-moods. 

Some,  in  the  amber  fringe  at  her  neck, 
Some,  in  the  down  of  her  breast : 

While  others  under  her  pinions  peck, 
The  warm  plumes  hiding  the  rest. 

O  lovely,  fluffy,  feather'd  things! 

Wee  brown  and  golden  birds  ! 
As  ye  nestle  under  your  mother's  wings, 

I  think  of  the  blessdd  words, 

The  words  that  came,  like  the  wail  of  death, 

From  a  Heart  Divinely  true  : 
"  As  the  hen  her  chickens  gathereth, 

So  had  I  gathered  you, — 


160    "AS  THE  HEN  GATHERETH  HEE  CHICKENS." 

Bid  ye  would  not — /  "...  Master !  never  again 
Shall  Thy  Love  lament  its  plea— 

As  the  birds  cling  close  to  yon  brooding  heii, 
So  cling  we  close  to  Thee ! 


FLOWERS  OF  THE  NIGHT. 
MARVELOUS    tree    is    the    Sorrowful 


Tree, 


4=^=^     The  growth  of  a  bosky  defile, 
Away,  far  away,  near  the  coast  of  Bombay, 
On  Goa's  luxuriant  isle. 

Whilst  the  forest  is  bright  with  the  sun's  golden 

light, 

On  its  boughs  not  a  blossom  appears ; 
But  when  day   sinks   to  rest  in  the  rose-tinted 

west, 
And  the  night-dews  fall  softly,  like  tears, — 

Thro'  the  long  night  of  gloom,  in  their  tropical 
bloom, 

From  the  emerald  branches  outshine 
Rich  masses  of  flowers  whose  petals,  in  showers, 

Fall  ruddy  and  fragrant  as  wine. 


162  FLOWERS    OF   THE   NIGHT. 

Behold !  at  the  dawn,  ev'ry  blossom  is  gone,— 
No  sunbeam  those  buds  may  illume; 

Yet,  all  the  year  through,  in  the  dusk  and  the 

dew, 
The  Sorrowful  Tree  is  in  bloom. 

O  comforting  thought !  when  the  bosom  is  fraught 

With  some  inexpressible  \voe, 
When  the  sunlight  is  gone,  and  the  night  draweth 
on, 

And  Hope  hath  no  blossoms  to  show ; 

Thro'  the  dew  of  our  tears,  like  a  vision,  appears 
The  night-blooming  tree  of  the  East, 

In  the  darkest  of  hours  displaying  its  flowers, 
A  mourner  arrayed  for  the  feast. 

Ah !  the  breath  of  delight  from  those  buds  of  the 
night, 

Shall  Affliction's  dark  forest  perfume  : 
And  all  the  year  round,  by  their  radiance  crown 'd, 

The  tree  of  our  sorrows  shall  bloom  ! 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  LILT, 
I. 

HE  lily  died  last  night ! 
JL 

I  heard  a  whisper  tremble  from  the  mere, 

I  marked  the  crescent  of  the  rounding 
& 

year, 
Pale  from  the  mellow  lustre  of  its  light. 

I  saw  the  lily  dead : 

Her  floating  bier  of  reeds  and  woven  grass ; 
Her  shroud  a  moonbeam,  and  her  requiem  Mass 
The  hollow  music  from  the  willows  shed. 

II. 

While  all  the  rushy  things 

That  grow  and  green  beside  a  summer  mere, 
Wailed  thro'  the  glamour  of  the  atmosphere 
An  anthem,  as  on  airy  cither-strings— 

The  lily  slowly  rocked 
In  the  dim  light  upon  the  grassy  pool, 
Fragile  and  pure,  funereal  and  cool, 

Her  waxen  lids  in  deadly  slumber  lock'd. 


164  THE   DEATH   OF   THE   LILY, 

III. 

Oh,  grieving  heart  of  mine  ! 

(I  said,   with  tears),  Oh,  friends    that  mourn 

with  me ! 

The  legend  of  the  soul's  lost  purity 
Is  written  in  the  lily's  swift  decline. 

Take  ye  the  idle  pen, 
And  let  me  weep  until  the  purple  dawn ; 
A  something  pure  from  out  my  life  has  gone, 
And  it  can  never,  never  come  again ! 


MORNING-  GLORIES. 

the  trellis,  up  to  the  eaves, 
The  vine's  strong  tendrils  creep  : 
Out  of  the  glistening,  heart-shaped  leaves 
The  morning-glories  peep. 

Tiny  chalices,  purple,  pink, 

And  clear,  translucent  white, — 
Into  their  depths  the  dewdrops  sink, 

Warm  with  the  autumn  light. 

And  round  the  vine,  (with  the  fair  sunshine 
A-glow  on  its  heart-shaped  leaves), 

Some  tender  dreams  of  the  Heart  Divine, 
My  reverent  fancy  weaves. 

The  purple  chalices  seem  a  type 

Of  the  Sorrows  of  that  Heart; 
The  radiant  pink  of  the  blossoms  ripe, 

Of  Its  Glories  seem  a  part. 


166  MORNING-GLORIES. 

And  the  silvery  grail  yon  spray  lifts  up, 

All  stainless,  seems  to  be 
A  type  of  the  Eueharistie  cup 

And  the  Host's  white  purity  ! 

O  heart-shaped  leaves !  ye  may  decay, 
Ye  flow'rets,  withered  lie, — 

But  the  Heart  ye  image  lives  for  aye, 
ITS  Glories  never  die  1 


A  SUNSET  SYMBOL. 

BEYOND  yon  screen  of  spectral  trees, 

The  rosy  Sunset  Land  arises; 
Its  opal  gates  swing  in  the  breeze, 
Its  paths  are  rich  with  glad  surprises. 

The  ruddy  glow  above  the  blue, 

Is  like  a  torch,  rose-red  and  tender; — 

Each  crystal  pane  it  sparkles  through, 

And  fills  my  chamber  with  its  splendor! 

O  Sunset  Land,  so  close  at  hand, 

Thine  open  portals  twined  with  roses, — 
The  Sacred  Heart's  dominions  grand, 

In  thee,  I  hail,  as  twilight  closes ! 

What  time,  methiriks,  the  Precious  Blood 
Dyes  crimson  all  thine  airy  vapors, 

Thy  qniv'ring  flames— a  fiery  flood — 

Blaze  forth,  as  from  a  thousand  tapers. 


168  A   SUNSET    SYMBOL. 

And  when  thine  inner  cloudlets  part, 
I  see  within  their  glowing  centre, 

A  thorn-encircled,  cross-crown'd  Heart, 
Inviting  all  Its  depths  to  enter ! 

Fling  wide  Thy  gates,  O  Heart  Divine, 
So  full  of  tenderness  and  pity  ! 

Within  this  Sunset  Land  of  Thine, 
Reveal  to  me  Thy  Golden  City ! 

Receive  me  to  those  depths  so  dear, 

Ere  Death's  dim  twilight  round  me  closes, 

There  to  repose,  devoid  of  fear, 

Love's  victim,  crowned  with  deathless  roses ! 


THE  NEW  JERUSALEM. 


of  peace — Jerusalem  ! 
1         How  gentl}7  to  the  heart's  unrest, 

aii 


Those  words,  like  angel-accents,  seem 
Thy  glories  to  suggest ! 

A  holy  calm  is  on  thy  streets, 

The  river  floweth  noiselessly  ; 
And  tranquil  float  through  fair  retreats 

A  gracious  company. 

For,  tho'  they  sing  and  strike  their  lyres, 

A  hush  is  on  each  happy  sense  ; 
The  brightest  flame  of  their  desires 

Burns  quiet,  if  intense.' 

And  all  their  song  is  full  of  peace, 
And  all  their  peace  is  full  of  God — 

The  soul's  eternal  sin-release, 
A  rapture  deep  and  broad. 


170  THE   NEW   JERUSALEM. 

The  wearing  fret,  the  hurrying  rush 
Of  earth,  stir  not  that  life  of  love, 

For  over  all  a  sacred  hush 
Broods,  like  a  nestling  dove. 

Nor  doubt,  nor  fear,  (nor  shattered  hopes, 
That  scourged  the  soul  to  Death's  abyss,) 

Are  there  ;  they  form  but  golden  ropes 
Whereby  it  mounts  to  bliss ! 

O  peaceful  Home  !  how  deep,  how  strong 
Our  yearning  for  thy  mansions  cool! 

How  long,  my  fevered  heart,  how  long, 
Must  strife  and  discord  rule  ? 

How  long,  ere  sorrow,  care  and  pain, 
Jerusalem  I  in  thee  shall  cease  ? 

Hasten  the  coming  of  thy  reign, 
Vision  of  endless  Peace  ! 


ABANDONED. 

Then  His  rliscijiles  leaving  Him,  all  fled  away. 

(ST.  MAKK,  xiv,  50.) 

ifHY  seamless  robe  is  redder  than  the  rose, 

ML 

Thy  beauteous  Face  is  blanch'd  with 


agony; 
The  brutal  soldiery  around  Thee  close, 

While,  left  and  right,  the  poor  disciples  flee. 

'Mid  howling  wolves  (meek  Lamb  !)  Thou  stand'st 
alone, 

Thy  bosom  heaves  ;  Thy  tears,  unheeded,  start  ; 
Tho'  cruel  hands  assault  Thee,  hard  as  stone, 

It  is  not  tliey,  alas  !  that  wound  Thy  Heart  ! 

The  ring  of  coin  still  echoes  in  Thine  ears, 
(Whereby  betrayed  Thee  the  Iscariot,)  — 

And  outrag'd  Love  now  shudders,  as  it  hears 
The    cherished    Simon's    loud    "I   know    Him 
not  !  " 


172  ABANDONED. 

Ingratitude  hath  dealt  its  deadliest  blow  ; — 
O  faithful  Heart  I  forsaken  at  the  end, 

Far  better  are  the  insults  of  a  foe, 

Than  the  false  kisses  of  a  treach'rous  friend  ! 

Lo !  to  Thy  feet  we  bring  (with  souls  oppressed), 
Our    wreck   of    broken    joys,    of    hopes    o'er- 
thrown ; 

The  secret,  silent  anguish  of  a  breast 

Which  claps  its  cross,  abandoned  and  alone. 

When  friends  prove  false,  and  loving  hearts  grow 

cold, 
O  constant   Friend  !    true  Love !    we  turn    to 

Thee, 

And  to  Thy  dear,  deserted  Heart  make  bold 
To  breathe  our  plaint  of  lonely  misery. 

And  oh  !  the  while  we  tenderly  unite 
Our  tiny  sorrows  to  Thy  mighty  woes, — 

How   sweet    to    find    (tho'   all  earth's  joys  take 

flight,) 
In  Thee,  alone,  firm  peace  and  fix'd  repose  ! 


A  PRAYER  AND  ITS  ANSWER. 

RUSTY  shield  prayed  to  the  sun: 

"  O  Sun  !  illuminate  my  face 
S    With  the  glad  glory  of  thy  rays, 

•I* 

That  I  may  shine,  resplendent  one  ! 
As  once  I  shone  in  ancient  days !  " 

Replied  the  sun  : 

"First  cleanse  thyself  from  rust — and  then 
My  Face  in  thee  shall  shine  again  !  " 

A  guilty  soul  prayed  to  its  Lord  : 
"  O  Christ !  illuminate  my  face, 

And  let  Thy  lustrous  flood  of  grace 
Upon  my  darkened  eyes  be  pour'd ! 

Their  radiant  vision  once  restored, 
Thy  glory  shall  the  gloom  displace  !  " 
Replied  the  Lord : 

"First  cleanse  thyself  from  sin — and  then 

My  Face  in  thee  shall  shine  again  !  " 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  LIFE. 

line  of  light  across  the  sea, 
That  'twixt  the  em 'raid  shadows  lies, 
A  bridge  of  silver  seems  to  be, 
Let  down  from  rifts  in  cloudy  skies. 

Outstretching  to  the  crystal  rim, 

Where  meet  and  part  the  sails  of  snow, 

It  sparkles  through  the  distance  dim, 
A  pier  where  angels  come  and  go. 

Ah !  thus,  my  soul,  across  Life's  sea, 
'Mid  dark'ning  shades  of  grief  and  care, 

Outstretches  to  Eternity 

The  pure,  resplendent  Bridge  of  Prayer. 

Time's  airy  ships  advance,  retreat — 
This  firm  bridge  leadeth  to  the  skies — 

For,  following  fast  on  angels'  feet, 
We  pass  from  Prayer  to  Paradise  ! 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  CROSS. 

r  OPENED  the  Blessed  Book 

In  the  hush  of  a  sylvan  spot, 
And  I  read  :  "Whoever  followth  Me, 
In  darkness  walketh  not." 

Cried  my  soul :  "  When  shadows  flee, 

0  Lover,  more  than  friend ! 

In  the  glow  of  the  light  I  will  follow  Thee, 
Rejoicing  to  the  end  ! " 

But  a  wind  the  woodland  fann'd, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  forest  shook, 

Turning,  as  if  witli  a  viewless  hand, 
The  leaves  of  that  precious  Book. 

And  lo  !  on  another  page, 

1  read  again,  with  a  sigh : 

"  If  any  man  will  come  after  Me, 
Let  him,  himself,  deny. 


176  THE   WAY   OF   THE    CROSS. 

"  Let  him,  himself,  deny  " — it  said, 
(And  I  trembled  shudderingly) — 

"And  take  up  his  cross  "—it  sternly  read, 
"And  follow,  follow  Me!" 

O  truth  of  truths  !     On  the  moss, 
I  knelt  in  the  greenwood  lone, 

And  pondered  the  secret  of  the  Cross, 
In  the  living  Word  made  known. 

Who  wills  to  walk  in  the  light 
That  flows  from  a  Source  divine, 

Lord  !  in  the  path  to  Calv'ry's  height, 
Must  plant  his  steps  in  Thine! 

For  none  that  path  can  tread, 

Can  walk  that  royal  road, 
Save  those  that  suffer,  toil,  and  sweat, 

And  carry  the  cross  of  God  ! 

The  way  is  narrow  and  rough, 
Sharp  stones  the  footpath  strew, 

And  after  the  bleeding,  burden'd  Christ, 
The  suff'ring  Christians  go. 


THE   WAY    OF    THE   CROSS.  177 

But  a  glow  and  a  glory  bright 

On  those  pilgrims  ever  beam  ; 
For  the  way  of  the  Cross  is  the  way  of  light, 

Of  light  and  love  supreme  ! 


THE  APOSTLE  WHO  PROVED. 

§BSENT  when    came   the    Risen    Christ  to 
cheer 
^-^     The  trembling  Ten,  SAINT  THOMAS  by 

his  doubt, 

The  Resurrection  proved,  and  every  fear 
By  his  bold  testimony,  put  to  rout. 

Absent,  when  Mary  died,  and  was  interr'd — 
Beside  her  tomb,  it  was  to  Thomas  given, 

To  view  its  lilied  void.     It  was  his  word 

That    proved    our   Queen's    Assumption    into 
heaven  ! 


THE  DRAMA  SPIRITUALIZED. 


Read  by  request  before  the  Convention  in  the  Women's 
Building  of  the  Cotton  States  and  International  Exposition, 
Atlanta,  Georgia,  November  26,  1895. 

HEY  tell  in  ancient  mythologic  story 

Of  young  Eurydice,  once  beauteous  bride 
g3       Of  Orpheus,  the  prince  of  lyric  glory, 
(The  bard  by  pagans  to  the  gods  allied) — 


Fated  Eurydice  !  from  out  the  chaos 
Of  Grecian  lore,  we  see  her  rise  and  flee 

Across  the  meads,  pursued  by  Aristaeus, 
Inflamed  with  Bacchanalian  revelry  ! 

Lo  !    as   with   wind-blown    robes,   in    flight   she 
passes — 

(Hearing  afar  her  spouse's  silv'ry  flute) — 
A  jeweled  serpent  darting  from  the  grasses 

Stings  unto  death  her  slender,  roseate  foot ! 


THE    DRAMA    SPIRITUALIZED.  179 

And  down  she  sinks  into  the  gloomy  region 
Where  Pluto  holds  his  court,  and  Proserpine 

Ringed    by    the    Harpies   and   the   Fates,    (foul 

legion !) 
Reigneth  a  queen,  infernally  divine  ! 

What  time  Enrydice  in  mortal  sorrow 

Doth  languish  in  that  place  of  torturing  shame, 

Her  spouse — her  Orpheus,  the  fatal  morrow, 
Comes  seeking  her  within  the  realms  of  flame. 

He  sees  the  Parcse  with  wild  eyes  a-kindle, 
He  sees  the  serpent-crown'd  Eumenides : 

The  first  display  the  Distaff,  Shears  and  Spindle, 
The  latter  guard  the  Trident  and  the  Keys. 

Pressing  his  way  to  Pluto's  throne  of  fire, 

(Past  the  dog  Cerberus  and  the  streams  that 
burn), 

The  mighty  minstrel  strikes  his  golden  lyre, 
And  singing,  pleads  for  his  lost  bride's  return. 


180  THE  DRAMA   SPIRITUALIZED. 

O  matchless  music  !     Pluto's  heart  dissolving, 
Acknowledges  the  singer's  magic  sway  ; 

The  wheel  of  Ixion  is  no  more  revolving — 
The  stone  of  Sisyphus  is  stilled  to-day  ! 

And  wretched  Tantalus,  his  thirst  forgetting, 
Listens  entranced  to  that  rare  melody  ; 

The  Furies  hear,  while  tears  their  eyes  are  wetting: 
"  Oh,  give  me  back  my  lost  Eurydice  !  " 

"  She  shall  be  thine  !"  Pluto  at  last  replieth  ; 

"  Thy  song  hath  conquered  e'en  our  cruel  spell. 
Take  her — but  look  not  back!  The  mortal  dieth 

Who  turns  one  backward  glance  on  us  and 
hell !  " 

Oh,  joy  !  the  lost  one  to  her  lover  rushes ! 

They  clasp — they  weep — they  sob  aloud  their 

bliss  ! 
Already  doth  the  sun  illume  her  blushes, 

The  winds  of  heav'n  her  shining  tresses  kiss ! 


THE    DRAMA    SPIRITUALIZED.  181 

When    "Hasten,  love!" — her  happy  spouse   ex 
claiming, 

Turns   with  a   backward  glance  to  speed  her 

flight- 
Alas  !  alas  !  the  pit  of  Pluto  flaming 

Hath  swallowed  her  forever  from  his  sight ! 


My  gentle  friends,  methinks  you  are  well  able 

To  solve  this  riddle  of  antiquity, 
To  read  the  moral  of  this  Grecian  fable 

Of  hapless,  lovely,  lost  Eurydice. 

Behold  !  the  drama  in  its  chaste  transcendence, 

The  glory  of  its  pristine  loveliness, 
Pursued,  in  all  its  classical  resplendence, 

By  lustful  suitors  to  hell's  dread  abyss ! 

From  out  the  green  of  treacherous  morasses, 
See,  where  the  serpent  of  a  Sensual  art 

Springs  on  the  trembling  Genius  as  she  passes, 
And  wounds  her  to  the  death  with  poison'd 
dart ! 


182  THE   DRAMA   SPIRITUALIZED. 

Alas  !  she  sinks, — down — down  she  sinks  despair 
ing 

Into  the  dark  domain  of  sin  and  hell, 
The  stigma  of  the  Damned  forever  sharing, 

Eternal  slave  of  Death's  black  citadel ! 

Corruption  hath  assailed  her  incorruption, 
The  Sensual  her  spirit  hath  defiled, 

For  Art  lascivious  hath  wrought  destruction 
Upon  the  Drama's  pure  and  lovely  child. 

Oh  !  who  shall  free  the  captive  from  her  fetters  ? 

Who    lead    her,    radiant,    from    hell's   gloomy 

door  ? 
Who  shall  release  her  from  that  den  of  debtors, 

And  lift  her  to  a  higher  life  once  more  ? 

When   shall  there   come  some  selfless,  brave  re 
former 

Far  better,  wiser  than  Apollo's  son, 
(Whose  music  dies  in  meanest,  tuneless  murmur 

Before  the  measures  of  this  mighty  one  !) 


THE   DRAMA    SPIRITUALIZED.  183 

To  cleanse  the  age  in  its  polluted  fountains, 
To  tame  the  savage  beasts  of  Passions  wild, 

Uproot  Impurity's  gigantic  mountains, 

And  flood  the  stage  with  beauty  undefiled  ? 

All  this  must  be  the  work  of  some  grand  creature 
In  true,  regen'rate  Art's  Millennium, 

When  Grace  shall  rule  triumphant  over  Nature, 
And  heav'nly  cohorts  smite  the  demons  dumb ! 

Arise,  O  Christian  Orpheus !  bring  hither 
Thy  golden  lyre  filled  with  heaven's  song  ! 

Make  music  with  the  viol  and  the  zither 
That  shall  beguile  the  cruel  and  the  strong ! 

Sing,  till  the  very  courts  of  Satan  tremble, 
Till  Fate  and  Fury,  melting,  yield  to  thee  ! 

Cry  where  the  princes  of  the  Dead  assemble  : 
"  Oh,  give  us  back  our  Drama's  purity ! " 

And  when  she  comes,  the  Genius  fair  and  gifted, 
In  all  her  blushing  beauty's  smiles  and  tears, 

When  to  thy  bosom  she  is,  rapturous,  lifted, 
And  borne  aloft  to  higher,  purer  spheres — 


184  THE   DRAMA    SPIRITUALIZED. 

O  Christian  Orpheus  !  look  not  back,  I  pray  thee, 
Let  not  thy  glances  seek  a  sensual  past ; 

No  lure  should  tempt — no  obstacle  delay  thee 
From  speeding  to  thine  eyrie,  free  and  fast ! 

Onward   and    upward !     Death   and  hell  behind 

thee 

May  clamor  for  their  prey.     Albeit  baptized 
With  fire,  thou  shalt  fear  naught — no  chain  shall 

bind  thee, 

No  hounding  demon  ever  track  or  find  thee  ; — 
Heav'n's  victor  thou  shalt  be,  since  'tis  assigned 

thee, 
To  hail  the  Drama  pure  and  spiritualized  ! 


SYMPATHY. 

GOLDEN  oil  upon  Life's  creaking  wheels, 
Bidding  the  noisy  cycles  soundless  turn  ; 

M 

Love's    unguent   on  each  smarting  seam 

and  burn, 

Blessing  the  wounds  its  gracious  balsam  heals; 
A  perfect  strain  of  harmony  which  steals 
Into  the  jarring  discords  of  our  earth, 
'Till  ev'ry  soul  its  soothing  sweetness  feels, 
And  melancholy  brightens  into  mirth. 

Sans  sympathy — a  man  can  never  prove 
A  true  apostle  of  the  One  whose  tread 
Broke  not  the  bruised  reed,  nor  (in  His  love) 
The  smoking  flax  crush'd  or  extinguished. 
He  who  would  image  Christ  must  ever  be 
Filled  with  a  Christlike  genial  sympathy. 


TEE  ACADIANS  IN  PHILADELPHIA. 


"  Those  of  the  Acadiaus  (or  French  Neutrals)  who  came  to 
Philadelphia  were  provided  with  quarters  in  a  long  range  of 
one-story  wooden  houses  built  ou  the  north  side  of  Pine  street, 
and  extending  from  Fifth  to  Sixth  street." — (Watson's  Annals, 
Vol.  I.) 


SIT  alone  at  my  window  ; 

The  twilight  lowers  its  veil, 

And  soft  thro'  the  violet  shadow, 

The  stars  peep  far  and  pale. 

Just  over  the  way,  the  houses 
Melt  from  sight,  like  the  snow, 

And  in  their  stead  arises 
A  vision  of  long  ago  ; 

A  dream  of  the  days  departed, 
When  (near  the  pine  trees'  belt), 

The  simple-soul'd,  meek-hearted 
Acadian  exiles  dwelt. 


THE   ACADIANS    IN   PHILADELPHIA.  187 

Dissolved  are  bricks  and  mortar — 

The  children  of  Grand-Pre 
Fill  all  that  ancient  quarter 

With  huts,  long  past  away  ! 

The  low  huts  of  the  brethren 

Of  sweet  Evangeline, 
Flow'r  of  the  poor  French  Neutrals, 

In  meadows  still  and  green  ! 

Near  by,  the  Quaker  Almshouse 
Stretched  long  and  low  and  red, 

Where  Gabriel,  the  lost  one, 
Lay  dying  on  his  bed, 

When  thro'  its  doors,  heart-broken, 
His  sweetheart  passed  one  day, 

Leaving  her  love-dream's  golden  rose 
A  heap  of  ashes  gray. 

Up  yonder  square,  dear  reader, 

If  wand'ring  thoughtfully, 
You'll  find  the  little  graveyard 

Of  HOLY  TRINITY  ; 


188          THE    ACADIANS   IN    PHILADELPHIA. 

And  there,  amid  their  brethren, 
'Tis  said,  they  slumber  sweet,* 

Evangeline,  the  faithful, 
With  Gabriel  at  her  feet. 

The  moss  creeps  o'er  the  marble, 
The  rank  grass  wilts  or  waves ; 

The  wild  birds  come  to  warble 
Where  ivy  clothes  the  graves ; 

And  o'er  them  floats  the  singing 
Of  the  old  German  choir, 

The  church-bells'  mellow  ringing 
From  realms  purer,  higher. 

The  busy  streets  around  them 
Are  full  of  change  and  stir; 

No  sound  of  strife  can  reach  his  life, 
And  all  is  peace  for  her  ! 


''  In  their  nameless  graves,  the  lovers  are  sleeping; 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic  churchyard, 
lu  the  heart  of  the  city  they  lie." 

— LONGFELLOW'S  Ecangeline. 

There  has  been  much  contention  as  to  the  exact  spot  where 
the  Acadians  lie  buried. 


THE   ACADIANS   IN    PHILADELPHIA.          189 

The  Past  (outside  my  window) 

The  Present  blurs  and  blots ; 
I  see  naught  in  the  shadow 

Of  white  Acadian  cots, 

Save  two  fair  phantom  models 

Of  pure  devotedness — 
Evangeline  Bellefontaine 

And  Gabriel  Lajeunesse ! 


ASCENSION  DAY. 

WEARY  time  was  that,  to  mortals  given, 

When  (all  abyssed  in  misery  profound), 
^x^     Throughout    the    vast   bright    courts    of 

beauteous  heaven 
No  human  soul  was  found. 

No  creature  of  our  race  in  flesh  or  spirit 

Abode  within  God's  holy  Paradise, 
No  child  of  earth  was  suffered  to  inherit 

That  kingdom  of  the  skies. 

Angels,  archangels,  thrones  and  dominations, 
Powers  and  virtues,  shining  cherubim, 

Glad  principalities,  in  jubilation, 

Made  music  with  the  glowing  seraphim ; 

But  in  that  chorus  of  exultant  sweetness, 

While  golden  harp-strings  with   delight  were 
stirr'd, 

The  ear  of  God  perceived  an  incompleteness, — 
No  human  voice  ivas  heard! 


ASCENSION    DAY.  191 

At  last,  there  came  a  Day  when  all  those  mansions 
Thrilled    thro'  their   rapturous  void   of    Self's 
alloy, 

The  jasper  walls  upon  their  jewel'd  stanchions 
Trembled  with  strangest  joy  ! 

For  from  the  outer  space,  there  came  a  thunder 
Of  many  voices  chanting,  as  in  choir, 

A  psalm  so  sweet,  the  angels  gazed  in  wonder, 
And  hush'd  was  every  lyre. 

Wide  on  their  hinges,  rolled  the  pearly  portals, 
Forth    swept    the    spirits   by    sweet    urgence 
driven, 

Thrice  welcome  was  that  band  of  blessed  mortals 
Who  came  to  share  their  heaven  ! 

Foremost  and  fairest,   shone  their  Captain  glori 
ous, 

The  Risen  Christ.     He  led  that  shining  throng, 
That   white -robed  throng,   who  bore  their  palms 

victorious 
And  sang  their  triumph-song  ! 


ASCENSION    DAY. 

Out  from  the  Limbo  of  the  buried  ages, 

They  came,  those  ransomed  souls  of  long  ago, 

Prophets  and  patriarchs,  saints,  heroes,  sages, 
And  virgins  chaste  as  snow. 

They  came  to  claim  their  heritage  supernal, 

Purchased  by  Jesus'   Blood  *  *  *  With    rare 
delight, 

To  see,  where  all  was  peerlessly  eternal, 

Their  flesh  uplifted  to  the  Godhead's  height  ! 

"  Roll  back  your  gates  !  "  they  sang :  "  the  night 

is  over, 

The  long  night  of  our  waiting!   (Cleansed  from 
sin,) 

With  Christ,  our  King  of  glory,  man's  best  Lover, 
We  come  to  reign — oh !  let  us  enter  in  ! 

"  Ye  mighty  doors  give  way,  (as  clouds  auroral 
Melt  rosy-hued  before  the  rising  sun  !  ) 

Hail !  Land  of  Rest!     Welcome,  celestial  choral ! 
The  goal  of  Paradise  at  last  is  won  !  " 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  CHRIST. 

I. 

the  homes  of  the  early  Christians, 
(Those  shrines  of  peace  and  prayer,) 
Of  all  the  goodly  chambers, 
The  one  beyond  compare, — 
The  fairest  and  the  brightest, 

Where  Faith  and  Love  held  tryst, — 
Was  the  tranquil  little  chamber 
They  called  the  ROOM  OF  CHRIST. 

n. 

For  there,  the  brave  believers, 

Across  the  threshold  pure, 
Led  in  the  weary  wand'rers, 

The  sick,  the  sad,  the  poor; 
And  there,  the  homely  banquet 

For  hungry  ones  was  spread  ; 
And  pilgrim  limbs  were  rested 

Upon  the  peaceful  bed. 


194  THE   CHAMBER   OF   CHRIST. 

III. 

O  Faith  and  Love!  that  worshipp'd 

With  fond  adoring  eyes, 
Behind  each  veil  of  suff  ring, 

Your  Lord  in  lowly  guise  : — 
'Twas  JESUS  whom  ye  welcomed, 

And  wooed  to  food  and  rest, 
In  ev'ry  wand'ring  pilgrim, 

In  ev'ry  sorrowing  guest ! 

IV. 

And  thus  that  hallowed  chamber, 

(To  strangers  sacrificed,) 
Was  known,  throughout  the  mansion, 

As  the  little  ROOM  or  CHRIST  ; 
And  who  shall  say  what  blessings 

A  bounteous  heaven  pour'd 
Upon  each  happy  household 

That  there  received  its  Lord  ? 

V. 

Dear  Christians,  gentle  readers, 
When  ye  your  homes  adorn, 


THE   CHAMBER   OF   CHRIST.  195 

Do  ye  reserve  a  chamber 

For  pilgrim-guests  forlorn  ? 
A  spot  where  woes  may  slumber, 

And  withered  hopes  may  bloom  ? — 
Ah !  then,  within  your  households, 

Christ  hath  His  favorite  Room ! 


SWEET  PEACE.— A  PICTURE. 

the  wall 

The  autumn  light,  like  golden  wine,  is 
pour'd ; 

Upon  the  wall 
There  hangeth  high  a  soldier's  belt  and  sword. 

Thro'  lattice  low, 
The  winds  of  Indian  summer  steal  and  melt ; 

And  to  and  fro, 
The}7  gently  blow  the  soldier's  sword  and  belt. 

Oh,  slumb'riug  sword  ! 
Swing  lightly  on  the  wall ;  shine  bright  and  blue ! 

Oh,  idle  sword  ! 
There's  no  more  bloody  work  for  thee  to  do. 

No  more  for  thee, 
Oh,  belt  content  to  dangle  in  the  sun  ! 

War,  anarchy, 
And  girded  strife  for  thee  are  surely  done. 


SWEET    PEACE. — A   PICTURE. 

For  thee  no  more — 
Ah  !  best  of  all — no  more,  no  more  for  thee, 

Oh,  soldier  !  Sick  of  war, 
Here  rest,  and  take  thy  baby  on  thy  knee ! 

Here  calmly  sit, 
And  watch  the  orchards  ripen  in  the  sun  ; 

Thy  pipe  is  lit, 
And  gaily  prate  thy  wife  and  little  one. 

Oh  !  golden  Peace  ! 
Oh,  happy  calm,  which  follows  after  storm  ! 

When  clamors  cease, 
How  sweet  to  rest  in  haven  still  and  warm  ! 

Good  sword  !  the  rust 
May  creep  and  creep  along  thy  polishM  blade  ; 

And  moth-flies  must 
Make  havoc,  belt,  among  thy  tinsel'd  braid, 

But  (happy  wight !) 
Your  master  tastes  the  bliss  of  your  release. 

Oh,  God  of  might ! 

Who  blessed  our  fight,  bless  now  our  welcome 
peace  ! 


THE  CHANGES  OF  THE  YEARS. 

'HERE  is  naught  so  sad,  (save  Sin), 

j'viS     In  this  sad  old  world  of  ours, — 
/<4  V}3 
|0]     (Where  the  light  is  shadow's  kin, 

And  the  thorns  outlive  the  flowers); — 
There  is  naught  so  rends  the  heart, 

Or  so  melts  the  soul  in  tears, 
As  the  pain  which  forms  a  part 

Of  the  changes  of  the  years. 

Earth  and  all  the  things  thereof 

Find  their  fate  in  Death's  decree  ; 
Hearts  once  linked  in  fondest  love 

Drift  apart,  like  ships  at  sea. 
Through  the  roses  on  the  wall, 

Lo  !  the  imp  of  Ruin  leers  ; — 
And  the  fairest  fabrics  fall 

With  the  changes  of  the  years. 


THE   CHANGES   OF   THE   YEAKS.  199 

Now,  'tis  absence, — now,  deceit, — 

Now,  some  foolish  words,  half-play, — 
Yet  a  friendship  strong  and  sweet 

Hath  forever  passed  away. 
There  are  sadder  things  than  death 

In  the  vision  of  the  seers, — 
Love's  a  dream,  and  Joy's  a  breath 

In  the  changes  of  the  years. 

In  the  fane,  and  at  the  feast, 

There  is  many  a  stranger-guest: 
At  the  shrine,  a  stranger-priest 

Offers  up  the  Victim  blest; 
While  the  vacant  seats  are  filled, — 

We  must  mount  to  purer  spheres, 
If  we  seek  the  balm  distilled 

From  the  changes  of  the  years. 

One  by  one,  the  dear  ones  go, — 
One  by  one,  old  friends  depart, — 

Strangely  still  old  homesteads  grow  j 
Death  is  busy  with  his  dart. 


200      THE  CHANGES  OF  THE  YEARS. 

Like  a  ghost  beside  the  hearth, 
Mocking  Memory  appears, — 

Ah  !  there's  naught  so  sad  on  earth 
As  the  changes  of  the  years  ! 

Here,  we  miss  a  friendly  face, — 

There,  a  form  we  prized  hath  fled  : 
Beams  no  more  a  tender  grace 

From  beloved  eyes  long-dead. 
Marriage-bells  ring  funeral-chimes, 

Bridal  beds  have  turned  to  biers, — 
Thro'  all  places, — thro'  all  times, 

Roll  the  changes  of  the  years. 

Ah !  the  heart  grows  faint  witli  dread, 

Ah  !  the  eyes  grow  dim  with  \voe ; 
O'er  unnumber'd  tombs  we  tread, 

Stumbling  blindly  on  below; 
Tracking  ever  thro'  the  dark 

Some  lov'd  shape  which  disappears,- 
Leaving  naught,  save  grief  to  mark 

The  sad  changes  of  the  years. 


THE  CHANGES  OF  THE  YEARS.      201 

O  Thou  fair  and  faithful  One ! 

Ever  old,  yet  ever  new, — 
O  Thou  Father,  Spirit,  Son  ! 

Who,  alone,  art  firm  and  true : 
Thou  hast  nothing  sad  or  strange 

That  can  freeze  our  hopes  to  fears, — 
Thou  dost  alter  not  nor  change 

With  the  changes  of  the  years. 

Then,  to  Thee,  ray  God !  I'll  cling,— 

On  Thy  Rock  my  soul  is  stayed ; 
'Neath  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing, 

I  shall  nestle  undismayed  : 
Hold  me  fast  thro'  Death's  dark  night, 

Till  Thy  day-star  bright  appears, — 
Lo  !  Eternity  shall  right 

All  the  changes  of  the  years ! 


GONE! 

A  CAROL  FOR  XEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 
I. 

,  bells,  within  your  airy  heights  ;  wail, 
winds,  o'er  moor  and  mere, 

On   this,  the  saddest  of  all  nights,  the 

s 

last  night  of  the  year  ; 
The  last,  long  night  when  lamps  are  lit,  like  tapers 

'round  a  bier, 
When  quiet  folk  at  still  hearths  sit,  and    God 

seems  very  near. 

II. 

Tho'  vainly  o'er  his  nameless  woes,  full  many  a 
mortal  weeps, 

Tho'  folded  in  the  silent  snows,  full  many  a  dar 
ling  sleeps  ; 

Tho'  pleasant  eyes  that  saw  it  come,  can  never  see 
it  go, 

Still,  kindly  hath  this  Old  Year  done  its  mission 
here  below. 


GONE !  203 

III. 

For  ev'ry  cloud  within  its  breast,  a  golden  sun 
beam  bore, 

And  ev'ry  joy  was  doubly  bless'd  by  sorrows  gone 
before  ; 

And  ev'ry  sinless  soul  that  laid  mortality  aside,— 

Departing,  left  us  in  its  stead  an  angel  holy-eyed ! 

IV. 

And  on  this  last  night  of  the  year,  this  quiet, 
dreamy  night, 

The  angel-messengers  are  here,  a  goodly,  gracious 
sight ! 

With  white  robes  shining  thro'  the  gloom,  with 
fair,  immortal  faces, 

They  flit  around  the  home-like  room,  and  fill  fa 
miliar  places. 

V. 

Their  hands  are  felt,  where  other  hands  were  felt 

in  days  before, 
Their   heads   are   laid   where   other    heads   shall 

never  nestle  more  ! 


204  GONE ! 

Their  rustling  footsteps  seem  to  mock  the  patt'ring 

feet,  now  clay, 
And  mingling  with  the  ticking  clock,  their  voices 

breathe  alwaj 

VI. 

Of  myriad  blessings  to  be  born  within  the  com 
ing  year ; 

Of  love  and  peace  for  those  that  mourn,  and  hope 
for  those  that  fear  ; 

Of  darksome  records  cleansed  for  aye,  from  sorrow 
and  from  sin, 

Of  good  seed  sown,  and  (in  their  day),  rich  har 
vests  gathered  in. 

VII. 

Of  ships  that  shall  go  down  to  sea,  and  leave  a 

shining  track, 
And   after    cruising   merrily,    shall     bring   their 

treasures  back ; 
And  of  those  ships  of  rarer  sort,  Man's  noblest 

argosy, 
Which  back  shall  bring  to  safest  port,  the  wealth 

of  Faith's  fair  Sea  ! 


GONE !  205 

VIII. 

— The  old  clock  strikes  upon  the  stair ;  Time's 

tide  is  at  the  turn  ; 
And  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere,  the  New 

• 

Year  tapers  burn. 
The  mimes  and  masquers  fill  the  street ;  the  bells 

clang  o'er  the  river ; 
The  horns  are  blown,— the  drums  are  beat, — the 

Old  Year's  gone  forever  ! 


NOTE.  "The  conversion  of  St.  Margaret  of  Cortona," 
"The  Master's  Cloak,"  "The  Star  of  the  Kings,"  and  "The 
Sparrow's  Lesson"  were  first  printed  in  the  Ave  Maria;  "A 
Sunset  Symbol  "  in  the  Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart;  in  "  The 
Birth  of  the  Holly"  in  the  Little  Pilgrim;  "Sympathy''  in 
Donahoc's  Magazine;  and  "  The  Acadians"  in  the  American 
Catholic  Historical  Records, 


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